41 


F 


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' 


( 


A.  B.  RUE, 


LOUISVILLE,  KY. 


/VI iss  ]Belle  f etepvson. 


[FIFTH  EDITION.] 


RWOOD 


— OR 


THE  STAR  fS  SHINING  STILL 

v 


BY  MISS  BELLE  PETERSON, 


Author  of  “One  Word  and  a Tear,  or  the  Wounded  Dove  ; 
“The  Story  of  Leonoria  Parolee,” 
and  Poetical  Works. 


Published  for  the  Author 
AT  THE  COURIER-JOURNAL  JOB  ROOMS,  LOUISVILLE,  KT. 
1881. 


TO 


MR.  J.  W.  RUSSELL, 

HER  HIGHLY  ESTEEMED  AND  HONORED  FRIEND, 
THIS  BOOK  IS  RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED, 

BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter. 

I. 

II. 

1 

III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

w 

VIII. 

'I 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 

- j 

XII. 

XIII. 

Page. 


The  Love  Token,  or  Parting  by  the  Seaside 5 

Too  Late 17 

Gossip  at  the  Railway  Station  — Miss  Montgomery’s 

New  Home 20 

Mrs.  Thornwhicker  in  a Pucker 34 

The  Arrival  of  the  Two  Brothers — Broken  Spectacles  . 50 
The  Best  Two  out  of  Three — The  Little  Barefoot  Angel  64 
A Grand  Reception — The  Hole  in  Harry’s  Coat  ...  75 
Clara  Raymont’s  Bridal  Night — A Shower  of  Tears  . 80 

The  Bridal  Tour — A Sad  Disappointment 91 

Kate  Winchester’s  Surprise — An  Angel  of  Death  at 

the  Marriage  Altar 101 

The  Flag  of  Sorrow ill 

A Funeral  Procession — A Night  of  Sorrow  for  Rose 

Sherwood 115 

A Visit  to  Prison — The  Star  is  Shining  Still 121 

The  Little  Supplicant  Kneeling  at  the  Feet  of  the 
Governor — Marriage  on  the  Scaffold 129 


‘She  saw  him  place  his  foot  upon  the  steamer,  and  saw  it  pass  into  the  briny  ocean,” 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE  LOVE  TOKEN,  OR  THE  PARTING  BY  THE  SEA. 


As  the  earth  turns  upon  its  axis  and  the  wheels  of 
time  speed  on,  is  it  not  wise  to  catch  the  aroma  of  its 
fleeting  moments  that  will  never  repeat  themselves  by 
so  much  as  an  echo? 

When  the  Roman  Emperor  said,  ‘ ‘ I have  lost  a 
day,”  he  uttered  a sadder  truth  than  if  he  had 
exclaimed,  “I  have  lost  a kingdom.”  Napoleon 
said  that  the  reason  why  he  beat  the  Austrians  was 
that  they  did  not  know  the  value  of  a few  minutes. 
At  the  celebrated  battle  of  Rivoli,  the  conflict  seemed 
on  the  point  of  being  decided  against  him.  He  saw 
the  critical  state  of  affairs,  and  instantly  took  his 
resolution.  He  dispatched  a flag  to  the  Austrian 
headquarters  with  proposals  for  an  armistice.  The 
unwary  Austrians  fell  into  a snare.  For  a few  minutes 
the  thunders  of  battle  were  hushed.  Napoleon  seized 
the  precious  moments,  and,  while  amusing  the  enemy 


6 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


with  mock  negotiation,  re-arranged  his  line  of  battle,, 
changed  his  front,  and  in  a few  minutes  was  ready  to 
renounce  the  farce  of  discussion  for  the  stern  arbitra- 
ment of  arms.  The  splendid  victory  of  Rivoli  was 
the  result.  How  often  the  great  moral  victories  and 
defeats  of  the  world  turn  upon  a few  moments ! Men 
may  loiter,  but  time  flies  on  wings  of  the  wind,  and 
all  the  great  interests  of  life  are  speeding  on  with  the 
sure  and  silent  tread  of  destiny ; and  the  fears  and 
hopes  which  agitate  the  breast  of  man,  which  have 
pressed  his  vision  into  the  future,  must  a!t  length  have 
their  truth  or  falsehood  tested.  But  how  many  of  us 
are  there  who  live  on  the  interest  of  the  present 
moment,  who  have  no  to-morrow  hastening  toward  us, 
whose  revelations  shall  crown  us  with  the  wreath  of 
happiness  and  prosperity,  or  sink  our  heaving  bosoms 
into  the  gloom  of  despair? 

But  O,  gentle  reader,  be  of  good  cheer!  for  to  all 
the  good  there  is  a golden  “ sometime.’ ’ It  is  a 
sweet  song  flowing  to  and  fro  among  the  topmost 
boughs  of  the  heart,  that  fills  the  air  with  such  glad- 
ness as  the  songs  of  the  birds  do,  when  the  summer 
morning  comes  out  of  the  darkness  and  the  day  is 
born  on  the  mountain  top.  We  have  all  our  posses- 
sions in  the  future — a hidden  chasm,  where  hope 
hovers  with  drooping  wing. 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


7 


“And  points  with  gorgeous  fingers  high 
Unto  the  laurel  wreath, 

That  hangs  where  Fame,  with  flashing  eye, 

Becks  him  who  stands  beneath.” 

The  battle  of  life  must  be  fought,  and,  “if  one 
commence  to  skirmish  early,  tactics  are  soon  learned 
and  the  conflict  is  soon  ended.”  Each  individual  has 
a different  battle  to  fight,  and  different  paths  to  travel. 
Our  path  may  lead  to  sunrise  or  sunset,  to  the  land 
of  flowers  or  of  brambles,  to  “Greenland’s  icy  moun- 
tains or  to  India’s  coral  strand.”  Destiny’s  mystic 
fingers  may  weave  for  our  heads  a laurel  crown  and 
place  us  upon  the  pinnacle  of  fame,  or  entwine  around 
our  brow  a chaplet  of  thorns. 

“The  laws  which  govern  our  moral  and  intellectual 
natures  are  as  rigid  and  inevitable  in  their  operations 
as  those  whose  workings  we  constantly  trace  in  the 
physical  world — of  which  truth  the  history  of  nations 
and  memories  of  great  men  furnish  innumerable 
exemplifications;  consequently,  it  is  both  unjust  and 
illogical  to  judge  of  the  probability  of  this  or  that 
event  or  series  of  events,  or  the  naturalness  of  this 
or  that  character,  whether  in  authenticated  history  or 
fictitious  works,  without  a thorough  acquaintance 
with  all  antecedents  and  the  various  relations  sur- 
rounding the  actor.” 


8 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


Kind  and  gentle  reader,  as  you  go  hand  in  hand 
with  those  whose  lives  I am  about  to  narrate,  bear 
this  in  mind : Life  will  not  stand  still  for  people. 

There  is  no  possibility,  except  in  rare  instances,  of 
giving  up  existence  to  wretchedness  and  misery. 
There  is  a great  deal  else  to  do.  We  must  live ; the 
world  must  go  on,  the  earth  turn  upon  its  axis.  There 
is  eating  and  drinking,  and  work  and  every-day  aims ; 
and,  though  hearts  may  break,  most  people  learn  to 
live  comfortably  with  only  the  fragments  of  a heart. 
And  I suppose  they  stop  aching  at  last,  except  when 
some  chance  touch  stirs  up  the  old  pain.  Time  is 
the  only  physician  for  wounded  hearts.  What  pre- 
cious healings  it  brings  on  its  broad  pinions.  It 
takes  us  to  its  breast,  and  folds  its  arms  around  us  as 
compassionately  and  tenderly  as  a mother  does  her 
first-born. 

Alas ! alas ! that  recollection  should  e’er  call  to 
mind  the  golden  hours  I fain  would  forget ! In  vain 
have  I struggled  to  erase  from  memory’s  page  gilded 
scenes  of  by-gone  days  that  are  no  more  to  return, 
but  overcast  by  leaden  clouds  on  which  the  rainbow 
glow  is  never  seen.  Ever  before  my  grate,  in  my 
visions  by  night  and  my  waking  dreams  by  day, 
thoughts  of  far-away  nights  and  enchanting  scenes  of 
other  years,  yet  fresh  and  green  as  a hot-house  plant, 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


9 


are  ever  floating  before  me.  Locks  of  living  gold 
and  a pair  of  dazzling  azure  eyes  seem  to  be  looking 
upon  me  as  they  did  one  memorable  night  as  the 
owner  wandered  out  into  the  darkness.  Night  became 
enamored  with  their  beauty,  and  adorned  them  with  a 
shining  shower  of  stars,  whose  spectral  light  fell  like 
seraph  smiles  upon  the  silent  scenes,  and  lit  up  with 
a silver  gleam  the  long,  feathered  sprays  of  the 
graceful  beech  tree,  whose  giant  limbs  were  draped  in 
fantastic  loops  of  Southern  moss  that  wreathed  and 
fluttered  in  gleaming  silver  threads  like  bridal  veils. 

The  night  was  warm  and  fragrant;  not  a cloud 
obscured  the  deep  azure  of  the  sky.  The  voices  of 
gleeful  children  and  the  rumbling  of  carriages  and 
omnibuses  broke  the  peaceful  serenity  of  the  night. 
Yes,  it  was  lovely;  although  Autumn  had  kindled 
her  forest  conflagration,  and  the  hectic  flush  was 
burning  on  every  tree  and  flower,  save  on  the  solemn, 
sombre  pine  and  melancholy  cedar,  which  waved  their4 
branches  defiantly  far  above  the  fevered  regions  of 
decay,  but  looked  with  an  anxious  eye  upon  the 
golden  maple  and  scarlet  oak,  and  crimson  dogwood, 
waving  their  flaming  banners  of  rose,  amber  and  orange 
as  though  they  were  shaking  hands  with  Mother 
Earth,  and  bidding  a final  adieu  to  all  her  radiant 
tapestries. 


IO 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


The  birds  kept  up  such  a lively  tete-a-tete  with 
Eurus  that  they  could  not  catch  the  faint  whisper 
that  fell,  like  the  mournful  cadence  of  a dying  rose 
upon  the  reeking  air,  and  was  caught  up  by  the  hills 
and  echoed  and  reverberated  among  the  purple  val- 
leys, and  finally  lost  in  the  roaring  and  dashing  of  the 
mighty  sea,  from  the  two  forms  that  were  standing 
beneath  them.  They  were  too  deeply  engrossed  in 
conversation  to  heed  anything  that  was  going  on, 
except  Eurus,  who  was  constantly  kissing  their  cheeks 
and  tangling  their  hair. 

One  of  these  individuals  was  a young  lady  of  some 
twenty  years  of  age,  with  a tall  and  graceful  figure, 
and  a countenance  whose  beauty  lay  rather  in  the 
sweetness  of  expression  than  in  the  regularity  of 
features.  But  let  it  not  be  supposed  that  those  lacked 
charms.  A finely-chiseled  mouth,  coral  lips,  liquid 
blue  eyes,  deep  and  thoughtful,  and  soft  masses  of 
golden  ringlets,  would  have  rendered  the  face  suffi- 
ciently attractive  had  not  the  noble  soul,  which  shone 
in  every  lineament,  overshadowed  all  such  mere  carnal 
beauty  of  form. 

Her  companion  was  a young  man  who  might,  per- 
haps, be  twenty-and-five,  possessing  a large  share  of 
personal  beauty.  His  eyes  were  black,  and  shone 
and  flashed  like  orbs  of  fire.  A light,  silken  mus- 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


I 


tache  fringed  his  upper  lip.  It  was  a frank  and  open 
face,  pre-eminently  handsome,  and  pleasant  to  look 
upon.  His  piercing  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  com- 
panion, while  he  held  her  soft,  white  hand  tightly 
clasped  in  his  own. 

“ O,  Egbert,”  she  said,  looking  up  at  him  through 
her  tears  and  laying  her  hands  gently  on  his  shoulder, 
“ I sometimes  wish  I did  not  have  any  heart!  I mean 
that  I wish  I could  forget  how  to  love !” 

“ Ah,  my  little  one,”  said  Egbert  Chesterfield  (for 
that  was  the  name  of  her  companion),  “you  have  a 
heart,  and  a warm  and  generous  one,  too,  capable  of 
the  most  self-sacrificing  love,  and  it  is  as  pure  and 
spotless  as  an  infant  saint.  But,  darling,  what  induced 
you  to  make  such  a wish  ? Do  you  not  want  to  love 
me?  I firmly  believe  that,  instead  of  cherishing  your 
affection  for  me,  you  struggle  against  it  with  all  the 
energy  of  your  character.” 

“ I do  not  deny  it,  Egbert,  and  yoh  ought  not  to 
blame  me.  To-night  we  part,  and  perhaps  a final 
separation  stretches  before  us.  I realize  the  necessity 
of  an  estrangement.  I have  nothing  to  hope — every- 
thing to  suffer.” 

He  placed  his  hand  under  her  chin,  in  order  to 
scan  her  face  fully. 

“Rose,  do  you  deem  me  a traitor?  How  is  it 


2 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


possible  that  you  can  persuade  yourself  to  believe  me 
to  be  recreant  to  the  trust — to  believe  me  to  be  any 
thing  but  true,  or  that  my  heart  is  or  ever  will  be 
another's,  after  having  such  an  assurance  of  my  love 
and  unchanging  fidelity  ? I thought  your  heart  was 
too  generous  to  inflict  pain  unnecessarily,  and  right 
on  the  eve  of  our  separation.  I have  confidence  in 
you.  Now,  will  you  not  be  generous  enough  to  place 
the  same  in  me  ? I know  that  absence  has  no  power 
over  a true  woman’s  heart.  Her  affections  will  tri- 
umph over  separation,  over  silence,  over  death ! — 
over  everything  but  loss  of  confidence  or  unworthi- 
ness in  its  object;  and  I can  bid  defiance  to  those 
obstacles,  for  I have  never  given  you  any  cause  to 
doubt  me,  and  here  I pledge  you  my  honor  that  my 
heart  will  faithfully  cling  stubbornly  to  you  through 
separation,  through  prosperity  or  adversity,  through 
life  or  death ; and  no  barriers  which  I may  be  respon- 
sible for  in  any  degree  shall  be  insurmountable.  I 
hold  you  to  my  heart,  acknowledging  you  all  my  own. 
Now  lay  your  little  hand  in  mine,  and  promise  me 
that  you  will  no  longer  entertain  such  harsh  opinions 
of  me,  nor  doubt  the  words  I have  spoken  from  the 
innermost  recesses  of  my  heart,  and  happiness  will 
crown  our  coming  years.” 

The  crystal  calmness  of  Rose’s  countenance  was 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


13 


broken,  and  her  face  grew  radiant  as  some  fleece-cloud 
suddenly  smitten  by  a ray  of  sunshine  and  sprinkled 
with  the  colors  of  the  rainbow.  A new  light  flashed 
in  her  blue,  liquid  eyes,  and  broke  in  radiant  ripples 
over  her  coral  lips,  and  pure  white  lilies  of  eternal 
peace  seemed  to  rest  upon  her  heaving  bosom.  Doubt, 
bitterness,  and  wounded  pride,  were  instantly  forgot- 
ten. She  raised  her  head  from  its  resting-place  upon 
his  bosom  and  laid  her  hand  gently  in  his,  and,  looking 
up  into  his  face  through  the  misty  veil  the  pearly 
drops  had  woven,  said : 

“ I promise  you,  Egbert,  that  I shall  lean  my  heart 
on  those  words  till  the  last  pulse  is  stilled  in  my  grave. 
I feel  that  I can  be  resigned,  be  brave  and  strong  and 
patient,  and  bid  defiance  to  adverse  fate.  Should  we 
never  meet  again  on  earth,  I will  deem  it  not  your 
fault,  and  will  look  for  you  when  I sail  beyond  the 
calm  shore  of  rest,  where,  if  faithful  here,  we  will 
cla«p  hands  that  will  never  be  severed.  And  now  to 
the  guidance  of  Almighty  God  I commit  you.” 

Egbert  caught  her  to  his  bosom,  and  kissed  her 
again  and  again.  Never  had  her  extraordinary  beauty 
so  stirred  his  heart ; never,  in  all  his  life,  had  he  seen 
her  look  so  lovely — a statuesque  face,  pure  and  calm, 
where  white-winged  Hope  lingered  like  a benediction, 


14 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


and  laid  her  conciliating  finger  about  her  lips,  that 
meekly  murmured,  “Thy  will  be  done.” 

She  was  a perfect  blonde — a complexion  that  was 
fair  almost  to  transparency,  except  where  the  rose 
faintly  tinged  her  cheek.  Her  hair  was  a rich  auburn, 
while  her  eyes  shone  and  sparkled  as  brilliantly  as  the 
diamond  that  flashed  in  his  bosom,  and  reminded  him 
of  all  he  had  read  of  the  undimmed  blue  of  Italian 
skies. 

“ Well,  little  one,  I must  say  farewell,  but  only  for 
a short  time.  Just  think  how  soon  one  year  will  roll 
around,  and  then  I will  return  to  claim  you  for  my  own 
little  wife.  The  parting  will  only  link  more  firmly 
the  chain  that  binds  two  congenial  souls.”  Ar^d  he 
repeated  the  words : ♦ 

“Oil ! in  the  varied  scenes  of  life, 

Is  there  a joy  so  sweet 
As  when,  amid  its  busy  strife, 

Congenial  spirits  meet  ? 

“Feelings  and  thoughts  a fairy  band 
Long  hid  from  mortal  sight, 

Then  start  to  meet  the  Master’s  hand 
That  called  them  into  light. 

“When  turning  o’er  some  gifted  page, 

How  fondly  do  we  pause, 

That  dear  companion  to  engage 
In  answering  applause ! 


“ I will  give  that  star  as  a token  of  my  love  and  unchanging 
fidelity,  and  when  that  star  shall  cease  to  shine,  then  will  I cease 
to  love  you.” 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


15 


“And  when  we  list  to  music’s  sig», 

How  sweet  at  every  tone 
To  read  within  another’s  eye 
The  rapture  of  our  own.” 

As  he  concluded,  he  brushed  back  the  numerous 
ringlets  that  clustered  around  her  brow,  and,  taking 
from  his  pocket  a pen-knife,  he  clipped  one  from 
her  forehead,  with  the  words : 

* 4 This  do  I take  in  remembrance  of  my  little  Rose, 
and  I will  ever  wear  it  near  my  heart.  I will  feel, 
when  surrounded  by  temptation,  that  its  influence 
exerts  a restraining,  purifying  impulse  over  my  whole 
existence.” 

“You  might  possibly  lose  it,  Egbert,”  said  she. 

‘ ‘ I will  give  you  something  more  permanent — some- 
thing that  will  inspire  you  with  thoughts  of  that 
Infinite  Being  who  knoweth  every  sparrow  that  falleth 
to  the  ground,  and  whom  you  should  ever  pray  to  for 
His  guidance  and  protection  in  the  hour  of  tempta- 
tion.” And  she  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  just  as 
Luna  was  struggling  feebly  up  the  eastern  sky,  escorted 
by  one  single  star  that  glittered  like  a vestal  lamp  in 
the  blue  azure  waves  of  heaven,  and  poured  down 
through  the  trembling  streamers  of  moss  and  gleamed 
on  her  upturned  face. 

“I  will  give  you  that  star,”  she  said,  “as  a token 


i6 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


of  my  love  and  unchanging  fidelity ; and  when  that 
star  shall  cease  to  shine  I then  will  cease  to  love  you 
— not  till  then ; and  may  that  little  token  be  your 
guide  and  one  day  pilot  you  safely  back  to  your  Rose.’" 
The  signal  bell  sounded.  He  gave  one  lingering 
look  upon  her,  kissed  her  tear-stained  cheeks,  and  tore 
himself  away.  Thus  the  two  lovers  parted — to  meet 
again — when,  where,  and  how  ? She  clasped  her  hands 
to  her  heart,  as  if  to  stop  its  wild  beating,  and  stood 
with  parted  lips  and  trembling  form  as  she  saw  him 
place  his  foot  upon  the  steamer,  and  saw  it  pass  into 
the  briny  ocean  that  was  foaming  and  lashing  itself 
into  fury,  with  its  wild,  howling  moans  and  waste  of 
waters,  leaping,  rolling  and  dashing,  and  foam-crowned 
walls  towering  on  each  side,  and  wreaths  of  smoke 
trailing  lullingly  before  the  wind,  that  twisted  and 
curled  themselves  into  a thousand  quaint  shapes,  and 
then  faded  away  into  nothingness.  Gradually  the  ves- 
sel receded,  the  dark  mass  became  indistinct,  the  light 
flickered  and  was  soon  lost  to  view ; and,  as  she 
watched  the  last  peak  vanish,  the  last  blue  outlines 
dissolve  in  the  distance  of  that  marvelous  picture — 
the  procession  of  hills  standing  sentinel  through  ages 
wrapped  in  mist  and  sheathed  in  the  moonlight,  and 
fade  and  disappear — she  felt  that  just  so  the  joys  of 
youth  would  pass  away.  She  gave  one  long,  lingering 


ROSE  SHERWOOD.  I J7 

look  at  the  trackless  ocean  that  had  torn  from  her 
heart  all  that  had  made  life  dear  and  left  it  bleeding; 
and  the  sweet  day-dream  that  had  spanned  her  whole 
existence  like  a bow  of  promise  had  faded  away. 

The  first  .great  grief  of  her  life  had  fallen  upon  her, 
and,  like  a tender  flower,  she  bowed  her  head  with  the 
storm.  As  she  turned  away  there  came  a faint  mur- 
mur from  her  trembling  lips:  “Would  to  God  that 
we  had  never  met ! then  this  great  sorrow  would  not 
have  fallen  upon  me.  But  too  late — my  fate  is  sealed, 
and  the  die  is  cast!” 

TOO  LATE. 

Too  late,  too  late! 

It  sounds  in  my  ear 
Like  the  sigh  of  the  willow, 

When  the  wind-cloud  is  near  ; 

Or  the  moan  of  the  ocean 
That  sobs  on  the  shore 
When  wailing  the  wrath 
Of  the  storm  that  is  o’er. 

As  the  ghost  of  the  miser, 

In  slumbers  unblessed, 

Haunts  ever  the  spot 

Where  its  treasure  doth  rest, 

Sad  memory  returns 

Unto  days  that  have  fled, 

And  the  “dead  past  ” seeks  vainly 
To  bury  its  dead. 


2 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


No  hope  hath  my  soul ! 

This  refrain  shall  cease  ; 

Time  doth  not  assuage, 

Death  will  not  release. 

More  sad  than  the  raging 
Of  passion  or  hate 
Is  the  voice  of  despair 

When  * tis  whispered  “ too  late. 

Too  late  to  amend  ! 

Too  late  to  atone  ! 

’Tis  grief  unavailing 
That  has  left  me  alone ; 

For  the  red  stain  of  sin, 

Though  we  steep  it  in  tears, 
Like  a scar  on  the  soul, 

Through  life  reappears. 

The  head  of  the  mountain, 
Though  hoary  with  snow, 

Cools  not  the  fierce  fire 
That  is  raging  below  ; 

And  if  the  hot  lava 

Has  rolled  down  its  side, 

Kind  nature  seeks  vainly 
Its  traces  to  hide. 

Oh,  Hope,  canst  thou  whisper 
No  comfort  to  those 
Whose  heart,  like  the  geysers, 
Boils  e’en  in  repose  ? 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


19 


Fanned  by  misfortune 
And  sated  with  sin, 

Still  longing  for  peace 
And  comfort  within. 

Still  passing  the  road 

Which  leads  unto  death, 

With  good  resolution 

That  melts  with  a breath  ; 

Still  hoping  against  hope 

That  they  backward  have  pressed 
The  fiery  passion 

That  boiled  in  each  breast. 

That  belief  is  triumphant, 

And  banish  each  doubt — 

The  geyser  extant, 

The  volcano  burns  out, 

Till  despair  slowly  whispers, 

This,  this  is  thy  fate, 

To  yield  to  the  storm 

And  lament  when  too  late. 


CHAPTER  II. 


GOSSIP  AT  THE  RAILWAY  STATION,  OR  MY  NEW  HOME. 


What  is  life  without  a shadow?  And  what  a 
monotonous  world  we  would  have  without  contrast  ? 
Life  without  shadow  is  life  without  joy.  Existence 
will  not  be  bliss  without  duties,  and  “duties  are  the 
parents  of  care.”  Whenever  a man  or  a woman, 
who  is,  as  years  go  by,  still  in  the  bloom  of  youth, 
comes  to  regard  the  simple  condition  of  rest  as  the 
boon  most  to  be  desired  upon  earth,  and  to  consider 
happiness  as  a thing  of  negation,  the  absence  of  cer- 
tain evils  recurring  diurnally,  you  may  be  assured 
that  this  man  or  woman  has  suffered  experiences  so 
crushing  and  bitter  that  any  surviving  vitality  suffices 
for  endurance  only,  and  prompts  no  more  to  action. 

When  the  wheel  of  circumstances  threw  me  into  the 
society  of  Dr.  Raymont,  he  said : “I  am  seeking  a 
teacher  for  my  two  little  daughters,  Maud  and  Lillie. 
Will  you  come  ? If  we  suit  one  another,  the  arrange- 
ment will  be  a permanent  one.” 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


21 


Of  this  proposition  I was  as  glad  as  a creature,  so 
spent  and  weary  of  emotion  as  I could  be  of  anything ; 
and,  in  twenty-four  hours,  my  trunk  was  packed  and 
sitting  on  the  platform  waiting  for  the  train,  which 
soon  made  its  appearance  freighted  with  bright-eyed 
girls,  dashing  young  men,  anxious  mothers,  and  fretful 
babies.  Ding-dong  ! ding-dong  ! rang  the  engine  bell, 
as  the  train  dashed  up  to  the  platform.  How  the 
throng  chattered,  and  laughed,  and  lost  each  other,  as 
they  poured  out  of  the  cars  on  to  the  platform  ! The 
world  seemed  so  full  of  youth  and  health  and  pros- 
perity. The  through  passengers,  left  in  possession  of 
the  car,  proceeded  to  settle  themselves  by  opening 
windows,  putting  down  shades,  changing  their  seats, 
and  generally  doing  all  they  could  to  make  the  day 
more  insufferably  hot,  as  people  invariably  do.  Not 
quite  invariable,  after  all,  for  one  figure  never  moved. 
A perfect  hand,  beautifully  gloved,  a pink  ear  with 
one  little  ringlet  hiding  behind  it,  and  glimpses  of  a 
white  throat,  were  all  a thick  veil  allowed  to  be  seen. 
She  was  leaning  against  the  blind,  listening  languidly 
to  the  buzz  of  voices  outside. 

“Where  is  my  trunk,  John?  See  that  it  is  on 
board.  Good-by,  Fannie  ; you  must  write.  ” 

Suddenly  her  attention  was  fixed  by  a voice  just  at 
her  window,  which  said: 


22 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


“ Certainly,  I know  him.  We  graduated  at  the 

same  time  at College.  I suppose  he  has  been 

spending  some  time  in  B ; and,  by  the  way,  I 

heard  that  he  has  become  very  much  smitten  with 
Miss  Rose  Sherwood.” 

“That  is  all  nonsense,”  said  his  companion,  sneer- 
ingly.  “ He  never  had  any  idea  of  marrying  the  girl ; 
he  has  only  been  carrying  on  a flirtation  with  her. 
I believe  she  loves  him,  but  she  will  never  see  him 
again.” 

‘ ‘ He  has  changed  considerably  since  he  left  school,  ” 
said  the  latter;  “for  he  was  one  of  the  most  moral 
young  men  I ever  saw.” 

“ Ah!  I don’t  suppose  his  piety  extended  farther 
than  the  school-room,  and  when  he  left  he  laid  his 
morality  aside.  To  my  certain  knowledge,  he  has 
been  playing  the  coxcomb  to  perfection  with  Miss 
Rose  Sherwood.” 

“Perhaps  not,”  said  the  young  man.  “He  may 
be  in  earnest.” 

“Well,  time  will  prove  it,”  continued  the  other. 
“ I will  bet  my  bottom  dollar  that  she  will  never  see 
him  again  ; for,  I think,  if  he  had  been  such  a devoted 
admirer,  he  most  assuredly  would  have  gone  and  bid 
her  good-by,  which  he  did  not  do.  He  was  with  me 
all  day  until  a few  hours  before  he  left,  and  I saw  him 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


23 


when  he  went  on  board  of  the  steamer.  I am  quite 
sure  there  were  no  tears  shed,  nor  waving  handker- 
chiefs ! ” 

Upon  hearing  these  words,  I put  my  hand  over  my 
mouth,  and  pinched  my  lips  until  they  were  purple, 
in  order  to  hold  my  tongue ; for  I felt  that  I wanted 
to  say  something  in  Egbert  Chesterfield’s  vindication  ; 
for  they  were  speaking  of  the  same  couple  that  I had 
seen  part  by  the  seaside — the  same  little  Rose.  And 
the  same  little  star  that  she  had  given  him  as  a token 
of  her  love  and  unchanging  fidelity  was  peering  down 
upon  them,  and  seemed  to  say : 

“Ah,  how  little  you  know!  ” 

Oh,  bigotry  of  human  nature ! By  what  high  com- 
mission, by  what  royal  patent,  do  men  and  women 
essay  to  judge  of  fellow-men  and  sister-women  by 
one  stern,  inexorable  standard,  unyielding  as  the 
measure  of  Damastes?  The  variety  of  emotional 
and  intertypes  is  even  greater  than  the  physical,  and 
as  the  ages  roll  on  we  need  no  other  criteria.  Who 
shall  dare  lay  fingers  on  a fellow-creature  and  auda- 
ciously proclaim : “I  have  gone  down  among  the 

volcanic  chambers  of  this  soul,  and  groped  in  its 
adytum,  amid  the  dust  and  ruins  of  its  overturned 
altars  and  crumbling  idols ; have  fathomed  its  mys- 
teries, and  will  tell  you,  by  infallible  plummet,  the 


24 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


depth  thereof/’  There  are  sealed  cells  where,  veiled 
from  scrutiny  and  sacred  as  Eleusina,  burns  the  God- 
given  shekinah  of  the  human  soul.  As  the  shells  that 
#tessellate  the  ocean’s  pavements  ; as  the  army  of  innu- 
merable clouds,  which  ceaselessly  shift  their  coloring 
and  their  forms  at  the  presto  of  wizard  winds ; as  the 
leaves  of  the  forest  that  bud  and  wave  in  the  flush  of 
summer,  so  we  differ  one  from  another. 

The  two  men  walked  on,  talking  of  other  things. 
The  bustle  went  on  inside  and  outside  of  the  car. 
The  young  girl  never  moved,  but  her  averted  cheeks 
were  crimson  now,  for  it  was  herself  they  had  been 
discussing.  Her  head  was  bent  forward,  and  her 
cheek  rested  upon  her  hand.  Her  curls  overshadowed 
her  brow  and  face,  as  they  peeped  from  beneath  her 
hat,  which  was  tossed  back  as  she  bowed  her  head, 
and  a warm  tint  fell  upon  her  cheeks,  while  her  eyes 
gleamed  out  of  shadows  dark  as  Erebus.  Her  bosom 
slightly  rose  and  fell,  under  the  influence  of  the  mental 
phantasmagoria  that  passed  before  her. 

As  my  eyes  rested  upon  the  bowed  form,  and 
watched  the  rising  and  falling  of  her  heaving  bosom, 
that  was  like  the  swelling  of  the  mighty  tide,  and 
covered  a heart  that  was  torn  and  bleeding ; and  saw 
the  quivering  lips  that  had  drunk  the  sweetest  nectar 
from  a golden  vessel,  but  soon  to  turn  to  gall  upon 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


25 


them,  my  heart  swelled  up  in  my  throat,  and,  in  spite 
of  all  my  efforts,  a tear  would  make  its  way  down  my 
cheek. 

- She  turned  her  liquid  blue  eye  toward  me,  and 
scanned  me  from  head  to  foot,  as  some  one  came  up 
to  my  window,  and  said  : 

“ Where  in  the  world  are  you  going,  Miss  Mont- 
gomery ?” 

“To  Dr.  Raymonds,  near  . Perhaps  you 

know  him,  as  you  are  pretty  well  acquainted  through 
that  section  of  the  country?” 

“Yes,  I do,  quite  well;  and  there  is  not  a nicer 
gentleman  than  Dr.  Raymont,  nor  a fairer  home  than 
Piney  Grove.  But  how  came  you  to  find  that  place?  ” 

“I  saw  his  advertisement  for  a governess  in  the 
Journal,  and,  on  application,  secured  the  situation.” 

‘ ‘ Since  you  will  go  away,  I am  glad  you  are  going 
to  that  section  of  country,  for  there  you  will  find  the 
scenery  beautiful  and  the  society  very  refined  and 
intelligent.  Dr.  Raymont  has  a daughter,  Miss  Clara 
Raymont,  who  has  one  of  the  loveliest  faces  I ever 
saw.” 

He  did  not  add  that  she  was  very  proud  and 
haughty;  he  would  let  me  find  that  out  myself. 

Aurora  had  just  begun  to  discover  the  beauty  of 
her  face  through  the  gates  and  balconies  of  the  East, 


2 6 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


shaking  from  her  locks  an  infinite  number  of  liquid 
pearls  to  bathe  the  heads  of  the  fatigued  and  drowsy 

travelers,  when  the  cars  stopped  at  R . Dr.  Ray- 

mont  met  me  at  the  railway  station  with  a ‘ ‘ Bless  my 
soul,  Miss  Montgomery,  so  you  are  really  here?” — 
just  as  if  I were  the  last  person  in  the  world  he 
expected,  and  as  if  he  had  been  waiting  nearly  two 
hours,  as  I presently  learned,  for  a totally  different 
person ; and  that  person  was  no  other  than  my  little 
Rose,  who  was  a niece  of  Dr.  Raymont.  My  heart 
bounded  with  delight,  when  I learned  that  we  were 
both  going  to  the  same  place,  for  I felt  that  I wanted 
to  become  better  acquainted  with  her. 

The  house  before  which  we  alighted  was  a whole- 
souled  (according  to  my  theory,  even  houses  have 
souls),  hospitable-looking  mansion,  with  wide  doors 
standing  open,  which  seemed  to  invite  entrance  to  the 
passer-by,  and  a charming,  old-fashioned  garden, 
running  over  with  evergreens.  The  prince’s  feathers 
stood  like  sentinels  along  the  walk,  nodding  their 
downy  heads  as  we  passed  along,  and  seemed  to  say: 
“ How  do  you  do?  We  are  glad  to  see  you.” 

A thousand  sorts  of  beautiful  birds  began  to  sing 
*and  twitter,  and  silver-winged  pigeons  flashed  in  and 
out  of  the  venerable  trees,  that  stretched  their  long 
arms  as  if  in  protection  over  the  old  homestead,  cooed 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


27 


and  fluttered  their  little  wings  in  the  warm  sunlight 
that  lay  like  a golden  sheet  on  the  clear  mirror  of  the 
lake,  and  rested  like  a diadem  on  the  brow  of  yonder 
mountain.  In  the  background  a venerable-looking 
peacock  sunned  his  gorgeous  plumage,  which  waved 
and  glittered  in  the  sunlight  like  kaleidoscopes. 

Mrs.  Raymont,  a pale-featured  and  low-voiced  lady, 
met  us  at  the  door  and  repeated  just  what  the  flowers 
had  said,  only  she  clasped  Rose  in  her  arms  and  im- 
printed a kiss  upon  her  lips ; and  I must  confess  that 
I did  envy  Rose  at  that  moment,  for  I thought  of  the 
time  when  fay  mother  used  to  put  her  arms  around 
me,  and  kiss  my  cheeks,  and  smooth  my  tangled  hair, 
and,  with  loving  words  and  gentle  manner,  disperse 
the  clouds  from  my  brow,  and,  if  sad,  cheer  my 
childish  heart.  I thought  of  my  own  beautiful  home, 
with  its  pine-clad  hills  and  the  feathery  beech  trees 
quivering  against  the  golden  background,  and  the 
white-sailed  ships  floating  on  the  melancholy  waves 
like  peaceful  spirits  into  the  great  Beyond.  I could 
see  the  graceful  willow  waving  above  the  last  dwelling- 
place  of  my  parents’  lifeless  forms,  and  I thought 
of  them  so  peacefully  sleeping  there. 

Oh,  Carolina,  my  dear  native  home, 

I still  love  thee  fondly,  if  from  thee  I roam, 

And  if  cruel  fate  has  borne  me  away, 

My  spirit  will  forever,  forever  with  thee  stay. 


28  v ROSE  SHERWOOD. 

I thought  and  felt  that  I would  have  given  any- 
thing if  Mrs.  Raymont  had  taken  me  to  her  heart  and 
kissed  me  as  she  did  Rose.  Then  there  came  over 
me  a chilling  sensation,  and  my  heart  was  turned  to 
an  icicle  as  something  seemed  to  say  : “You  are  noth- 
ing but  a stranger.  Why  do  you  expect  such  affec- 
tion?” My  heart  meekly  replied:  “ I do  not  expect 
it,”  and  I stepped  back  with  a dignified  air  and 
bowed.  All  my  thoughts  and  feelings  must  have 
been  stamped  upon  my  face,  for  the  kind-hearted  lady 
seemed  to  read  my  innermost  soul,  and  knew  exactly 
every  thought  that  walked  its  secret  chambers.  She 
took  both  my  hands  in  hers,  at  the  same  time  printing 
a kiss  on  my  cheek,  and  said : 

“This  is  Miss  Montgomery?  1 am  happy  to  have 
you  with  us.  May  your  stay  be  long  and  pleasant ! ” 
I thanked  her,  and  thought  I could  not  be  other- 
wise than  happy  in  such  a beautiful  home.  Then  to 
the  servant  who  had  met  us  at  the  door,  she  said: 
“Show  Miss  Montgomery  to  her  room,  and  see 
that  she  has  every  thing  she  wants.” 

I followed  the  servant  up  a long  flight  of  stairs. 
Being  fatigued  by  my  journey,  I followed  leisurely, 
and  noticed,  as  we  ascended,  how  wide  and  airy  the 
halls  were,  and  wondered  at  the  sweet  scent  of  hot- 
house flowers  floating  through  them.  I stopped  at 


“I  thanked  her,  and  thought  I could  not  be  otherwise  than  happy 
in  such  a beautiful  home.” 


30 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


the  first  landing,  to  look  at  an  antique  clock  in  a large 
wooden  case  which  time  had  hardened  to  ebony.  It 
was  a curiosity  inviting  investigation,  buried  in  shadow, 
but  catching  upon  its  gilded  cherubs  a few  reflecting 
rays,  ticked  loudly  forth,  and,  as  I regarded  it,  its 
loud,  cheery  tick  seemed  to  reiterate  the  welcome  I 
had  received  below,  and  I felt  as  if  I could  have 
shaken  hands  with  it  on  the  spot ; but,  reflecting  that 
such  a process  would  be  more  damaging  to  it  than 
gratifying  to  me,  I refrained. 

It  is  the  nature  of  sensitive  minds  to  vibrate  to 
every  touch  and  tone,  catching  gleams  of  happiness 
from  fleeting  lights  and  shades,  starting  up  keenly 
responsive  to  every  grace  or  beauty  in  whatever  form. 
Such  minds  experience  a continual  action  and  reac- 
tion, growing  eloquent  if  fanned  by  a summer  breeze, 
shrinking  at  a passing  discord,  and  with  all  their  emo- 
tions and  sensibilities  swayed  by  influences  apparently 
insignificant. 

I followed  the  servant,  who  took  me  into  a large, 
airy  room,  very  pretty  and  inviting  with  its  bright- 
colored  carpet  and  neat  furniture.  The  door  had 
scarcely  closed  upon  the  departing  servant,  when  I 
mechanically  dropped  into  the  luxurious  depths  of  a 
rocking-chair  with  which  the  room  was  furnished,  and 
which  was  drawn  up  before  the  glowing  mass  of 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


31 


bituminous  coal  that  blazed  and  snapped  in  the  deep, 
wide,  brass-rimmed  grate,  and  the  pent-up  tears  that 
Mrs.  Raymont  had  stirred  by  her  kindness  flowed 
copiously  down  my  cheeks.  I had  not  been  accus- 
tomed to  such  kindness,  as  my  parents  died  when  I 
was  quite  young,  and  I had  been  thrown  among 
strangers,  and  had  realized  so  much  of  the  stern  real- 
ities of  life  that  my  heart  had  grown  cold  and  I had 
become  indifferent  to  God’s  creatures — disgusted  with 
the  world,  with  the  people  in  it,  and  was  impatient 
with  everyone  but  myself.  But  the  kiss  (not  a Judas 
kiss)  that  I received  from  Mrs.  Raymont,  and  the 
kind  words  of  welcome  that  fell  upon  my  frozen  heart 
like  a stray  beam  upon  an  icicle,  made  me  forget 
for  a time  that  the  world  was  cold  and  cheerless,  that 
friends  were  false  and  life  full  of  disappointments.  It 
was  the  first  kiss  I had  received  since  my  mother 
folded  me  to  her  almost  lifeless  bosom  and  said : “ God 
bless  you,  my  darling,  and  may  He  who  has  seen  fit 
to  take  your  earthly  parents  from  you  give  you  more 
than  parents’  care!  ” As  she  closed  her  eyes  a halo 
of  glory  seemed  to  encircle  her  dying  head,  and  her 
weary  spirit  took  its  flight  to  seek  one  who  had  gone 
before  her,  for  the  spring  flowers  had  not  yet  had 
time  to  bloom  over  my  father’s  grave  ere  my  mother 
was  laid  beside  him,  and  I was  left  to  travel  that  dark 


32 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


and  dreary  path  alone — the  orphan’s  path  ; that  rug- 
ged and  thorny  path  with  no  hand-post  to  guide  the 
little  wanderer ; no  lamp  to  shed  its  brightness  on 
my  lonely  way;  no  eyo  to  pity,  no  hand  to  shield 
save  that  of  Him  who  hath  promised  in  mercy  to  be 
the  orphan’s  friend — for  no  orphan  can  find  a friend 
so  true  as  the  one  over  which  the  green  sod  is  pressing. 

My  youthful  readers,  you  to  whom  I dedicate  these 
few  simple  lines,  do  you  love  your  mothers  ? Do  you 
appreciate  the  unlimited  kindness  that  has  been  so 
bountifully  bestowed  upon  you  by  those  dear  hands 
that  nursed  you  in  your  infancy,  and  soothed  your 
feeble  cries  when  all  other  ears  had  grown  weary  of 
them  ! She  taught  your  lisping  tongue  its  first  words, 
and  your  tottering  feet  to  bear  their  unsteady  weight, 
and  watched  by  your  sleepless  couch  through  the 
dark  and  lonely  hours  of  night,  while  others  were 
wrapped  in  slumber,  and  who,  when  you  had  grown 
up  to  be  men  and  women,  still  clung  to  you  through 
joy  or  sorrow,  through  prosperity  or  adversity, 
through  honor  or  disgrace.  Though  the  world  may 
forsake  you,  she  will  still  cling  to  the  shattered  idol 
until  it  crumbles  into  dust.  If  you  do  not  dearly 
reverence  and  cherish  such  a friend,  begin  to  do  so 
this  very  hour.  You  know  not  how  soon  you  may 
be  deprived  of  that  ministering  angel  who  so  gently 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


33 


and  lovingly  and  patiently  guided  your  feet,  which 
were  so  prone  to  stray,  into  paths  of  peace  and  wis- 
dom. Let  your  mother  see  that  you  think  of  her, 
and  perform  those  little  nameless  attentions  which  can 
only  answer  the  demands  of  a loving  heart. 


3 


CHAPTER  III. 


MRS.  THORNWHICKER  IN  A PUCKER. 


I had  become  so  much  unaccustomed  to  bestowing 
much  care  upon  my  toilet,  that  I almost  wondered  at 
my  anxiety  to  look  well  this  morning.  I did  so  much 
wish  that  Mrs.  Raymont  should  like  me.  Poor,  fool- 
ish child  that  I was ! I had  yet  to  learn  that  to  dress 
well  and  look  pretty  isn’t  always  the  surest  way  to 
win  friends  among  our  own  sex.  After  changing  my 
traveling  dress  for  something  brighter  and  more  pre- 
sentable, I made  my  way  down  stairs,  where  I met 
two  pretty  little  girls.  The  tallest  one  held  out  her 
hand,  saying: 

“We  are  Maud  and  Lillie  Raymont.  Papa  and 
mamma  just. sent  us  up  to  see  Miss  Montgomery.” 

I extended  a hand  to  each,  and  drew  them  to  me 
and  said : “My  little  pupils,  I suppose.  Will  you 
not  give  me  a kiss,  with  a promise  of  what  good 
friends  we  are  to  be  in  the  future? ” 

Regarding  me  with  large,  discerning  eyes,  then 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


35 


apparently  contented  by  the  survey,  two  little  white 
arms  slipped  around  my  neck,  and  the  eldest  declared, 
in  a clear,  ringing  voice : “ I am  glad  you  are  to  be 

my  teacher,  Miss  Montgomery.” 

With  one  on  each  side,  hand  in  hand  we  marched 
into  the  parlor,  which  differed  from  the  rest  of  the 
house  in  a more  abundant  display  of  shells  and  corals, 
and  the  birds  that  perched  themselves  on  every  “coin 
of  vantage  ” were  gayer  of  plumage  here  than  else- 
where, and  they  looked  so  surprisingly  alive  that  one 
expected  them  every  moment  to  break  into  a merry 
twitter. 

I was  lounging  upon  the  divan,  half  asleep,  won- 
dering how  long  before  the  breakfast  bell  would  ring — 
for  I began  to  feel  the  effects  of  my  travel  and  long 
fasting — when  something  flashed  athwart  my  gaze. 
Bewildered,  I looked  up.  Had  the  queen  of  morning 
glided  into  the  room  upon  the  first  rays  of  the 
rising  sun  ? And  did  she  stand  before  me,  haughty, 
impassionate,  in  a robe  of  richest  silk,  while  from  her 
brow  and  neck  and  arms  streamed  dazzling  lusters, 
miniature  suns  of  diamonds  and  stars  of  blood-red 
rubies  ? So  dazzled  and  bewildered  was  I that  it  was 
almost  impossible  for  me  to  rise  from  my  seat,  when 
Dr.  Raymont  said : 

“This  is  my  daughter  Clara,  Miss  Montgomery; 


36 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


and  this  is  my  niece,  Katie  Winchester,”  turning  to  a 
young  lady  at  his  left,  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  who 
reminded  me  of  a lone  star  beside  a comet. 

Kate  extended  her  hand,  saying,  “ How  do  you  do, 
Miss  Montgomery  ? I hope  you  will  find  our  home 
agreeable,  and  may  your  stay  with  us  be  long  and 
pleasant.” 

Clara  only  bowed  with  a great  deal  of  haughtiness 
of  manner.  She  was  indeed  beautiful  beyond  com- 
parison with  any  girl  I had  ever  seen.  A second 
glance  at  Kate  convinced  me  that  she  possessed  that 
which  was  more  beautiful — a sweet  temper  and  amia- 
ble disposition,  and  a heart  overflowing  with  love  and 
affection.  The  contrast  of  these  two  girls  was  as  great 
inwardly  as  outwardly. 

Breakfast  was  announced,  which  did  not  displease 
me  in  the  least.  We  marched  into  the  dining-room, 
where  Mrs.  Thornwhicker  had  a sumptuous  breakfast 
of  rice,  fried  chicken,  hot  rolls  and  butter  spread 
before  us.  Clara  made  some  inquiries  about  my 
journey,  etc.,  and  she  and  Mrs.  Thornwhicker  mo- 
nopolized the  remainder  of  the  time  talking  entirely 
of  the  reception  that  was  to  be  given  in  honor  of  her 
rich  uncle  and  cousin,  who  were  to  visit  them  in 
grandeur  and  splendor,  thus  ignoring  my  very  pres- 
ence, and  I was  glad  when  the  meal  was  finished. 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


37 


Rose  and  Katie  were  silent  listeners,  and  seemed  to 
be  anxious  to  get  through  in  order  to  get  off  to 
themselves  to  have  a tete-a-tete  of  their  own.  Dr. 
Raymont,  who  was  one  of  those  gentlemen  who  never 
forgot  to  be  gentle  and  courteous  in  his  addresses  to 
any  lady,  would  turn  constantly  to  me,  seeking  to 
make  the  conversation  general.  I replied  only  when 
compelled  to  do  so,  and  then  almost  in  monosyllables. 
At  last,  to  my  relief,  the  meal  was  over,  and  I made 
my  way  to  my  room,  Dr.  Raymont  to  his  study  and 
Mrs.  Raymont  to  her  bed.  The  latter  was  an  invalid 
and  had  been  for  several  years,  and  the  management 
of  the  house  had  been  transferred  to  Mrs.  Thorn- 
whicker,  a widowed  sister  of  Mrs.  Raymont,  and  who 
the  doctor  thought  was  the  best  manager  in  the  world. 
As  for  Katie  and  Rose,  it  would  be  impossible  for 
any  one  to  tell  where  they  went  or  in  what  direction. 
Their  flight  was  so  sudden  that  I did  not  try  to  find 
out.  I stayed  in  my  room  the  remainder  of  the  day. 
Mrs.  Raymont  declared  that  I needed  rest  after  trav- 
eling all  night.  I thought  so,  too,  and  did  not  miss 
the  opportunity. 

The  evening  was  warm  and  pleasant,  and,  being 
tired  of  my  imprisonment,  I walked  out  upon  the 
lawn  to  survey  the  beauties  of  the  out-door  world 
that  surrounded  me.  I sat  down  in  the  shade  of  a 


38 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


large  hickory  tree  that  darkened  the  sweep  of  grass 
in  front  of  the  house.  It  was  so  quiet  and  warm  that 
it  would  have  reminded  me  of  a June  evening  had  not 
the  forests  been  robed  in  their  autumnal  dress.  A 
faint,  dull  red  lingered  in  the  east,  behind  the  river, 
up  which  the  fishing  smacks  stole  lazily,  their  white 
sails  growing  dim  and  dreamlike  as  they  passed  out 
of  its  glow  into  the  lengthening  twilight.  The  air 
was  redolent  with  delicate  distillations  of  delicious 
fruit  that  royal-crowned  autumn  had  set  before  us, 
and  the  birds  were  chirping  and  hopping  from  tree  to 
tree,  tasting  here  and  there,  undecided,  as  it  were,  as 
to  what  they  liked  best.  They  seemed  to  say,  “ Eat, 
drink  and  be  merry,  for  to-morrow  there  will  not  be 
one  left  upon  the  tree.”  Presently  my  attention  was 
attracted  by  loud  talking.  It  was  the  voice  of  Mrs. 
Thornwhicker,who  was  talking  in  a very  excited  tone. 

“ Oh,  I am  in  a perfectly  awful  state  of  rage ! ” she 
exclaimed,  divesting  herself  of  her  hat  and  shawl  and 
throwing  them  upon  a chair.  “The  meanness  of 
this  world  is  beyond  my  comprehension  ! ” 

“ Why,  what  in  the  name  of  St.  Peter  is  the  matter 
with  you,  aunt?”  said  Clara;  “You  look  like  you 
had  been  chased  by  a Bengal  tiger  ! ” 

“ Matter  ? There  is  plenty  the  matter,  and  if  I had 
my  way  with  that  squint-eyed  widow  Maclntarsh,  I’d 


ROSE  SHERWOOD.  39 

make  her  look  more  like  the  skeleton  of  a Peteradac- 
tylus  than  she  does.  I never  was  so  provoked  in  my 
life,  and  I firmly  believe  she  did  it  on  purpose ! ” 

“ Well,  aunt,”  said  Clara,  “ I hope  you  will  make 
an  explanation,  before  your  vocabulary  entirely  ex- 
plodes. Do  tell  me  the  cause  of  your  dilemma.” 
“Why,  that  red-headed  Sallie  Maclntarsh  went  to 
my ” 

“Red-headed,  aunt,”  said  Clara,  before  Mrs.  Thorn- 
whicker  could  finish  the  sentence.  “ Why  she  is  not 
red-headed ; her  hair  is  a beautiful  auburn,  and  Captain 
Cranshaw  thinks  it  lovely.” 

“Yes,  a good-for-nothing  thing,”  said  Mrs.  Thorn- 
whicker,  puckering  up  her  mouth  like  a tobacco 
pouch,  and  her  nose  as  sharp  as  Cleopatra’s  Needle. 
“ She  is  half  crazy  to  catch  him,  but  she  will  never 
do  it.  She  is  as  ‘poor  as  Job’s  turkey,’  and  all  she 
gets  she  puts  upon  her  back.  I’d  like  to  know  where 
she  gets  he;r  money.  People  say  she  is  not  the  right 
stripe,  and  I believe  it.” 

“Well,  aunt,”  said  Clara,  throwing  herself  back  in 
her  chair  and  laughing,  “what  has  Mrs.  Maclntarsh 
done  to  embitter  you  against  her?  I thought  you 
were  great  friends,  or  at  least  you  appeared  to  be 
when  you  were  together,  and  I know  she  used  to 
come  by  often,  very  often,  and  take  you  out  to  ride.” 


40 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


‘‘She  has  not  done  anything  to  me  personally, but 
she  slipped  around  like  a snake  in  the  grass  to  my 
dress-maker’s  and  ordered  a dress  made  for  herself  off 
of  the  very  same  piece  of  silk  that  mine  was  made 
from,  and  then  had  it  made  exactly  like  mine,  only 
more  beautiful,  all  trimmed  with  pointed  lace  that  cost 
not  less  than  twenty-five  dollars  a yard.  Mine  looks 
like  an  old  dish-rag  by  the  side  of  it.  She  expects 
to  wear  it  here  to  the  reception,  at  the  same  time  I 
expect  to  wear  mine.  I wish  we  had  not  invited  her,  ” 
she  exclaimed,  despairingly,  rocking  herself  to  and  fro. 

“That  is  too  bad,”  said  Clara;  “but  can’t  you 
have  it  trimmed  over?  It  is  rather  plain  any  way  for 
a ball  dress.” 

“Yes,  so  I can,”  said  she  encouragingly,  “and  I 
will  do  it,  no  matter  what  it  costs.  I guess  I can  foot 
any  bill  she  can.” 

Just  at  this  instant,  the  door  opened,  and  in  came 
Kate  witl\  her  face  all  aglow  with  excitement,  and 
exclaimed : 

“Qh,  Clara,  won’t  we  have  a nice  time!  Uncle 
Baskersville  and  Cousin  Harry  are  coming,  and  will 
be  here  on  the  25th.” 

“Who? ’’said  Mrs.  Thorn  whicker,  raising  herself 
up  and  stretching  out  her  neck  like  a goose  that  had 
been  choked  on  a cold  potato. 


/ 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


41 


“ Uncle  Samuel  Baskersville,  ” repeated  Kate,  turn- 
ing red  in  the  face. 

“Mother  of  all  saints!”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Thorn- 
whicker,  dropping  down  in  her  chair  as  though  she 
had  fallen  from  the  highest  pinnacle  of  hope  to  the 
lowest  depths  of  despair.  “Just  to  think  ! he  is  going 
to  poke  himself  up  here  just  at  the  very  time  we  are 
expecting  your  Uncle  Raymont.  Clara,  what  on 
earth  will  we  do  with  him  ? I do  think  poor  kin  is 
the  worst  curse  that  could  be  sent  on  any  one.  It 
will  be  so  mortifying  to  have  him  and  that  green  son 
of  his  in  the  reception-room  on  the  night  of  the  party ; 
for  I know,  if  the  father  is  as  poor  as  people  say  he 
is,  he  has  not  been  able  to  educate  him.” 

“Well,”  said  Clara,  looking  up  from  the  frills, 
laces  and  ribbons  she  had  so  fastidiously  quilled, 
puffed  and  bowed,  “we  are  not  compelled  to  intro- 
duce him  to  the  company  as  our  uncle.  No  one 
knows  that  we  have  such  an  uncle,  and  will  never 
know  it  unless  we  tell  it.” 

“Certainly,”  said  Mrs.  Thornwhicker,  with  an  air 
of  unspeakable  satisfaction.  “He  is  nothing  but  a 
half-uncle,  any  way.  But  where  will  we  put  him  to 
sleep  ? I’m  sure  I shall  not  put  him  in  the  same  room 
with  your  Uncle  Raymont.  There  will  be  but  one 


42 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


vacant  room  in  the  house,  and  the  young  ladies  will 
have  to  have  one  for  a dressing-room.” 

“ Give  him  the  little  room  in  the  passage,”  said 
Clara. 

“ Why,  yes,  I had  not  thought  of  that.  So  that 
decides  it.  You  understand  our  arrangement  for  the 
reception?”  turning  to  Kate,  who  had  been  a silent 
but  displeased  listener  to  the  conversation. 

‘ * No,  ” said  Kate ; “I  must  admit  that  it  is  beyond 
my  comprehension.  I can’t  see  why  it  is  that  you 
are  going  to  slight  poor  Uncle  Baskersville  and  treat 
him  with  so  much  indifference,  while  you  lavish  upon 
his  brother  all  your  luxuries  and  blandishments.  You 
may  treat  him  as  you  will,  but  I expect  to  do  all  in 
my  power  to  make  him  enjoy  his  visit,  and  I know 
Uncle  Richard  will,  for  I’ve  heard  him  speak  often  ot 
Uncle  Baskersville,  and  said  he  was  very  much  like 
my  mother.  I don’t  think, ’’she  continued,  as  a little 
pearly  drop  peeped  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye, 
“ that  it  is  right  to  make  so  much  difference,  if  he  is 
poor ; and  from  what  I can  hear  of  Cousin  Harry,  he 
is  very  smart  and  intelligent.  I am  sure  Uncle  Bas- 
kersville used  to  be  considered  a very  smart  man,  but 
he  has  had  misfortunes,  which  neither  he  nor  any 
one  else  could  help.” 

“The  same  misfortune  that  your  father  had,  I sup- 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


43 


pose,  ” said  Clara,  sneeringly.  4 4 He  spent  every  thing 
he  had,  and  left  his  children  for  other  people  to  take 
care  of." 

These  words,  like  a dagger,  pierced  Kate  to  the 
heart.  Never  in  all  her  life  had  she  been  cut  so 
deeply. 

She  sat  for  some  moments  without  speaking,  while 
the  hot  blood  rushed  to  her  face,  then  faded  away 
and  left  it  an  ashy  pale,  while  her  lips  w^ere  a deep 
purple  and  trembled  as  she  spoke : 

44  Clara,  say  what  you  will  to  me,  but  do  not  speak 
disrespectfully  of  my  father,  who  is  in  his  grave,  and 
whose  benevolent  heart  doomed  his  precious  body  to 
fill  a poor  man’s  grave,  and  leave  his  only  child  a 
victim  to  the  sneers  of  his  rich  relatives.  But,  thank 
God,  I am  able  now  to  take  care  of  myself,”  she 
exclaimed,  rising  from  her  seat,  44  and  I will  do  it. 
Uncle  Richard  shall  not  have  me  on  his  hands  any 
longer ; and,  besides,  when  I get  to  earning  money  I 
will  repay  him  for  the  hospitalities  that  I have  received 
beneath  his  roof.  I do  not  blame  him  for  any  thing 
that  has  been  said.  He  has  been  to  me  all  that  a 
kind,  good  uncle  could  be  to  a niece,  and  God  only 
knows  how  much  I honor  and  adore  him.” 

The  fountain  in  her  eyes  had  dried  up,  and  she 
walked  out  of  the  room  with  firm  step,  and  made  her 


44 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


way  to  her  own  room,  where  she  found  Rose  ponder- 
ing over  a letter  she  had  just  received. 

“ Rose,”  said  Kate,  “I  have  something  to  tell  you, 
and  it  is  this : Uncle  Baskersville  is  coming  on  the 

25th.  You  know  that  is  the  very  time  we  are  expect- 
ing Uncle  Raymont,  and  Clara  and  Mrs.  Thorn  whicker 
are  raging  about  it.  What  do  you  think? — they  are 
going  to  put  him  in  the  little  room  in  the  passage, 
without  any  fireplace,  and  he  is  in  such  delicate  health. 
But  they  are  going  to  give  Uncle  Raymont  and  his  son 
the  large  room  over  the  parlor,  with  a nice,  warm  fire 
in  it,  and  uncle  so  hearty  and  robust  one  might  sup- 
pose he  could  eat  a whole  ox.  Now,  do  you  think 
that  is  right?”  she  exclaimed,  looking  inquiringly  into 
Rose’s  face. 

“No,  I do  not,”  answered  Rose.  “Is  there  no 
other  room  in  the  house?” 

“ Only  the  room  they  have  fitted  up  for  the  ladies’ 
dressing-room.  But  I’ll  tell  you  what  I thought  we 
could  do,”  she  continued,  looking  as  if  a new  idea 
had  struck  her.  “We  are  sound  and  hearty;  let  us 
give  Uncle  Baskersville  our  room,  and  we  can  take  the 
little  room  during  his  stay.  That  will  not  be  very 
long,  if  he  receives  the  treatment  Clara  and  Mrs. 
Thornwhicker  have  proposed  to  bestow  upon  him.” 

“Yes,”  said  Rose,  “that  will  be  the  very  thing. 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


45 


I am  glad  you  thought  of  it.  We  will  fix  it  up  and 
have  it  all  ready." 

“And  another  thing  we  should  do,"  said  Kate. 

‘ * Let  us  do  all  in  our  power  to  make  him  enjoy  his 
visit." 

“We  will,"  said  Rose. 

At  this  instant  the  supper  bell  rang,  and  the  two 
girls  descended  the  stairs  and  again  we  were  all  seated 
around  the  table.  Dr.  Raymont  came  in  looking  very 
pleasant,  and  said : 

“I  have  been  very  happily  surprised,  Miss  Mont- 
gomery. I have  just  received  a letter  from  my  other 
brother,  William  Baskersville,  who  says  he  will  visit 
us  on  the  25th." 

“It  will  be  very  nice,"  said  I,  “to  have  both  your 
brothers  to  visit  you  at  the  same  time,  after  being 
separated  so  long,"  and  I gave  a sly  glance  at  Mrs. 
Thornwhicker,  which  was  very  contagious,  for  she 
caught  it  and  gave  it  to  Clara,  and  it  went  from  Clara 
to  Kate,  from  Kate  to  Rose,  and  then  back  to  the 
author,  who  said : 

“ I suppose  they  will  remain  with  you  some  time  ? " 

“Only  a few  weeks,"  he  answered,  stroking  Kate’s 
hair,  and  then  said  to  her : 

“Come  into  my  library,  Katie,  after  supper  I wish 
to  see  you." 


46 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


Dr.  Raymont  had  not  been  in  the  library  long 
before  two  white  arms  stole  around  his  neck,  and  a 
sweet  voice  said: 

“ Here  I am,  uncle;  what  can  I do  for  you?” 

He  drew  her  to  him  and  said:  “What  is  my  little 

girl  going  to  wear  at  the  reception  ? I see  everybody 
is  fixing  up  and  having  new  dresses  but  her.” 

“ I am  going  to  wear  my  black  merino  dress,”  said 
Kate.  “You  know  I am  in  mourning,  uncle,  and  it 
matters  not  what  I wear.” 

“ No,  Kate,”  said  he,  putting  his  hand  in  his  breast 
pocket  and  taking  out  a r large  leather  pocket-book, 
“you  can  not  wear  such  a dress  at  a reception  at  my 
house  as  long  as  your  old  uncle  can  raise  a dollar.” 
As  he  said  this  he  slipped  a hundred-dollar  bill  into 
her  hand,  and  told  her  to  have  on  her  best  bib  and 
tucker  on  the  reception  night. 

The  same  little  arms  slipped  around  his  neck,  and 
the  same  sweet  voice  said : ‘ ‘ Oh,  uncle,  you  are  so 

kind.  How  can  I ever  repay  you  ?”  And  the  bitter 
words  that  Clara  had  spoken  to  her  a’few  hours  before 
came  bubbling  up  from  her  heart,  where  she  had 
them  so  secretly  stored  away. 

“Words,  words,  words  ! ” says  Hamlet.  God  pre- 
serve us  from  the  destructive  power  of  words.  There 
are  words  which  can  separate  hearts  sooner  than  the 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


4 7 


sharpest  sword ; there  are  words  whose  sting  can 
remain  in  the  heart  through  a whole  life.  Therefore, 
always  think  before  you  speak. 

He  saw  the  great  sorrow  written  on  her  brow  as 
she  leaned  her  head  upon  his  shoulder  and  the  pearly 
drops  that  dimmed  her  violet  eyes  and  gathered  on 
the  long  golden  lashes  rolled  down  and  rested  on  his 
white  bosom.  He  gently  raised  her  head,  and  said 
in  a measured,  low  tone,  indicative  of  suppressed 
emotion : 

‘ ‘ I did  not  think  it  would  make  you  cry,  Katie,  for 
your  old  uncle  to  give  you  a little  present.  There 
now,  go  up  to  your  own  room  ; I expect  Rose  is 
waiting  for  you.  ” 

>(c  ;fc 

I found  the  fire  burning  clear  and  bright  in  my  own 
room,  and  the  curtains  drawn  before  the  windows, 
giving  it  a very  cheerful  appearance.  I sat  down  in 
the  rocking-chair  before  the  fire  to  meditate  on  the 
scenes  that  had  transpired  through  the  day,  and  had 
enjoyed  the  contemplation  of  them  for  some  time, 
when  I heard  a great  noise — rumble,  tumble — then 
an  exclamation: 

“ De  good  Lord,  Miss  Clara,  run  here  and  fetch  de 
camphire  bottle  wid  you.  Misses  Thornwhicker  has 
got  anoder  one  ob  aem  appleplexy  fits.  Poor  thing,  ” 


48 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


she  exclaimed,  sympathetically,  “I  do  hate  to  see 
her  hab  dem  kind  o’  things.  It  skeers  me  so  bad 
dat  I hain’t  got  a bit  ob  sense.” 

“Shut  up  your  mouth!  ” cried  Mrs.  Thornwhicker 
at  the  top  of  her  voice.  She  had  by  this  time  been 
restored  to  the  consciousness  of  her  situation.  “If 
you  ever  mention  this  to  any  one,  you’ll  repent  it  in 
dust  and  ashes.  Do  you  hear?” 

“No,  no,  Misses,”  said  the  negro,  grinning,  “I 
wouldn't  say  anything  ’bout  it  fur  nothin’  in  de  world, 
fur  I ’spect  when  dat  rich  widower  comes  he’ll  be  fur 
takin’  you  ’way  wid  him.” 

“Leave  me,  you  impertinent  wretch,”  said  Mrs. 
Thornwhicker,  who  was  not  displeased  at  the  servant’s 
last  remark. 

As  she  turned  to  obey  Mrs.  Thornwhicker’s  com- 
mands, she  spied  some  glittering  fragments  scattered 
over  the  carpet. 

“Laws,  Misses,  if  here  ain’t  de  doctor’s  spectacles 
mashed  and  broke  all  to  pieces.  Why,  I didn’t  know 
you  wore  spectacles,  Misses  Thornwhicker!” 

“Bridget,  I forbid  you  to  open  your  mouth  again, 
to-night.  If  you  do,  I will  feed  you  on  bread  and 
water  for  the  next  two  weeks.” 

“If  it  don’t  take  dem  white  folks  to  put  on  airs,” 
murmured  Bridget  to  herself  as  she  proceeded  up 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


49 


stairs.  4 4 De  ole  thing  called  me  clear  from  my  work, 
de  oder  day,  when  Capting  Cranshaw  was  here,  to 
pull  a needle  out  of  the  winder  curtin  dat  she  pre- 
tended to  see  clear  across  de  parlor,  and  I could 
hardly  see  it  after  I got  dar  myself.  It  was  jist  to 
make  him  think  she  wasn’t  ole.  But  she  wears  de 
doctor’s  spectacles  when  she’s  by  herself.  De  Lord 
knows  I’m  glad  I ain’t  white  fokes!” 


4 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  THE  TWO  BROTHERS,  OR  THE  BROKEN 
SPECTACLES. 


The  morning  of  the  25th  made  its  appearance,  the 
time  appointed  for  the  arrival  of  the  visitors. 

Scarcely  had  fair  Aurora  given  bright  Phoebus  time, 
with  the  heat  of  his  warm,  dazzling  rays,  to  dry  up 
the  liquid  pearls  upon  his  golden  hair,  when  Mrs. 
Thornwhicker  entered  the  dining-room  with  a battalion 
of  servants,  and  any  one  accustomed  to  tactics  might 
suppose  she  was  disposing  military  and  naval  forces. 
After  receiving  her  commands,  they  dispersed  in  every 
direction,  and  each  knew  exactly  what  she  had  to  do 
and  where  she  had  to  begin. 

There  was  sweeping  and  dusting, 

Scouring  and  scrubbing, 

Boiling  and  baking 

And  all  manner  of  things  making. 

The  chickens  all  seemed  to  be  frightened  out  of 
their  lives,  and  one  rooster  that  was  more  daring  than 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


51 


the  rest  flew  upon  the  lot  fence  and  crowed  loudly ; 
and  very  soon  after  the  signal  sounded  they  were  all 
collected  together  in  the  old  barnyard,  and  seemed  to 
be  holding  a consultation,  while  a venerable  turkey 
gobbler  was  giving  orders  to  the  hens  to  leave  as  soon 
as  possible  for  the  nearest  swamp,  and  remain  there 
until  they  could  hear  from  him. 

Said  he:  “These  are  critical  times ! You  know 

our  landlady  is  a widow,  and  I gave  you  warning  two 
weeks  ago  that  there  was  a widower  who  expected 
to  visit  her  on  the  25th.  There  have  already  been 
taken  from  our  flock  two  of  our  best  and  most  beau- 
tiful daughters.” 

“Two?”  said  a rooster  that  had  overheard  the  con- 
versation. “ What  is  that  in  comparison  to  our  loss? 
Six  of  our  fairest  daughters  have  died  upon  the  altar, 
and  my  opinion  is  that,  before  another  week,  there'll 
not  be  enough  left  to  tell  the  tale.” 

For  fear  of  exciting  the  appetites  of  my  readers,  I 
will  not  mention  what  I saw  in  the  pantry  that  day, 
but  will  leave  it  for  them  to  imagine. 

Evening  came,  and  with  it  came  all  the  silverware 
that  had  been  laid  away  for  years.  Teapot,  cake- 
basket,  waterpot,  spoons,  forks,  candlesticks,  cruet- 
stand,  all  made  their  appearance  rubbed  into  mirrored 
brightness.  The  housemaids  all  had  on  their  clean 


y,  OF  ILL.  LIB. 


52 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


aprons  and  white  handkerchiefs,  and  every  thing  was 
in  apple-pie  order. 

It  was  now  twilight,  and  the  king  of  day  had  just 
nodded  a graceful  goodnight  to  Luna,  who  appeared 
with  her  host  of  stars  around  her,  when  the  large 
folding  doors,  which  had  hitherto  been  closed,  were 
thrown  open,  revealing  a gorgeous  chandelier  in  the 
center  of  the  room,  where  a magnificent  display  of 
wreaths  of  flowers,  wax-work  and  mirrors  were  exhib- 
ited ; and  the  gilt  doves  above  the  windows  let  fall 
from  their  bills  curtains  of  the  most  delicate  lace. 
Birds  perched  themselves  upon  the  most  beautiful 
positions  and  sang  odes  of  welcome.  The  whole 
house  was  in  billebawde ! Suddenly,  a hush  came 
upon  the  buzzing  and  humming.  Somebody  said 
Mr.  Raymont  had  come. 

The  new  arrivals  changed  every  thing.  Mrs.Thorn- 
whicker  ran  before  the  looking-glass  and  smoothed 
back  a stray  lock  of  hair  that  was  floating  upon  the 
breeze,  braced  back  her  shoulders  to  give  herself  a. 
straight  appearance,  and  said  “cabbage”  in  order  to 
give  her  mouth  a dignified  pucker  before  meeting  her 
guests.  The  young  ladies  all  made  themselves  very 
straight,  and  looked  as  if  they  were  s.aying  ‘ ‘ prunes 
and  prisms.” 

“I’ll  take  a look,”  said  I to  myself,  as  I peeped 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


53 


out  of  a half-closed  window  just  in  time  to  see  a large 
and  elegantly-dressed  gentleman  step  from  a hand- 
some carriage  to  the  pavement,  with  an  elegant  gold- 
headed cane  in  his  hand.  He  had  the  appearance  of 
a Norman  warrior  with  a battle-ax  in  his  hand.  He 
was  followed  by  a young  man  who  seemed  to  smile 
like  a girl,  I thought — one  who  is  pleased  and  doesn’t 
care  to  hide  it — and  had  a wistful  look  about  the 
mouth  and  eyes  that  I could  scarcely  interpret. 

The  guests  were  ushered  into  the  parlor,  where  a 
cheerful  fire  was  blazing  in  the  open  fireplace.  They 
had  not  been  seated  a great  while  when  the  door-bell 
was  sounded,  and  a servant  was  immediately  dis- 
patched to  the  door ; but  Kate,  who  had  disappeared 
in  the  first  rush,  and  who  had  not  allowed  the  excite- 
ment to  overcome  her  so  completely  that  she  forgot 
there  was  another  uncle  to  be  there  on  the  same  day, 
was  a little  ahead  of  the  servant,  and  was  soon  in  her 
uncle’s  embrace.  Dr.  Raymont  met  him,  also,  and 
gave  him  a warm  and  hearty  welcome. 

“This  is  my  brother,  Mr.  Baskersville, ” said  Dr. 
Raymont  to  Mrs.  Thornwhicker,  who  drew  back  her 
neck  and  grunted,  ‘ ‘ and  this  is  my  daughter  Clara. 
Come  here,  Clara,  and  speak  to  your  uncle.” 

Clara  spoke  very  politely  to  her  uncle,  who  said  to 
her:  “You  were  quite  a child  when  I saw  you  last, 


54 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


some  twenty  years  ago.  ” At  these  words  the  hot 
blood  rushed  to  her  face,  for  she  had  just  told  her 
Cousin  Julius  that  she  was  but  eighteen. 

“Yes,  just  twenty  years,  to-day,”  he  continued, 
turning  to  Dr.  Raymont.  “I  was  here,  and” 

Here,  fortunately,  her  Cousin  Harry  Baskersville, 
who  had  been  delayed  and  had  not  made  his  appear- 
ance, stepped  into  the  room,  and  suddenly,  to  Clara’s 
great  pleasure,  the  conversation  flowed  in  a different 
channel.  She  could  not  help  thinking  that  he  was 
the  most  handsome  man  she  ever  saw.  He  was  a tall 
young  man,  majestic  in  person,  his  form  possessing 
all  the  grace  of  sculpture,  and  his  limbs  were  of  the 
manliest  proportions.  His  hair  was  dark,  his  eyes 
brown,  with  a countenance  full  of  intelligence  and 
benignity.  Dignity,  ease  and  complacency — the  gen- 
tleman and  the  scholar — were  agreeably  blended  in 
him.  Modesty  marked  every  line  and  feature  in  his 
face.  Those  words  by  Dryden  instantly  occurred 
to  me : 

“ Mark  his  majestic  fabric ! He’s  a temple 
Sacred  by  birth  and  built  by  hands  divine ; 

His  soul’s  the  deity  that  lodges  there, 

Nor  is  the  pile  unworthy  of  the  god.” 

Such  was  the  appearance  of  Harry  Baskersville 
when  he  was  introduced  to  Clara.  She  could  not  help 
wondering  at  the  contrast  in  the  cousins. 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


55 


Her  cousin  Julius  Rayrnont  was  a well-meaning 
young  man,  quite  clever,  but  very  conceited — rather 
amusingly  so.  His  face  was  as  non-committal  as  his 
figure.  The  features  were  well  cut,  the  eyes  cold 
and  observant.  His  mouth  was  almost  hidden  under 
a long,  heavy  blonde  mustache  and  barbe  d ’ Afrique. 
What  beauty  he  possessed  lay  principally  in  the  poise 
of  his  well-shaped  head  and  in  the  delicate  throat. 

After  supper,  Clara  was  led  to  the  piano  by  Mrs. 
Thornwhicker,  who  whispered  in  her  ear  as  she 
arranged  some  pieces  of  music  : 

“ I want  you  to  exert  your  musical  talent,  to-night.” 
Clara  played  several  pieces,  and  arose  from  the 
piano  and  closed  it.  Harry  turned  immediately  to 
Kate  and  said : 

“Why,  don’t  you  play,  Cousin  Kate  ?” 

“Ido  sometimes,  but  you  must  excuse  me  to-night.  ” 
“ I never  like  to  be  importunate,”  said  he,  as  he 
raised  the  piano  cover,  ‘ 4 but  you  must  favor  us  with 
some  music,  for  of  all  things  I love  it.” 

A deep  blush  swept  over  Kate’s  face  as  she  sat 
down,  but  soon  recovering  herself,  her  fingers  swept 
over  the  keys  so  skillfully,  eliciting  tones  of  such 
perfect  harmony,  that  all  who  listened  felt  that  there, 
at  least,  she  was  mistress. 

- She  soon  arose  to  go,  but  Harry  said  quickly,  laying 


56 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


a detaining  hand  upon  her  arm:  “Not  until  you 

have  given  me  one  song,  Cousin  Kate." 

She  smiled,  reseated  herself  and  sang  one  or  two 
popular  opera  airs ; but  it  mattered  very  little  what 
the  song  was,  for  Kate’s  one  great  gift  was  her  voice, 
which  was  so  rich  and  full  of  exquisite  melody,  that 
her  hearers — who  had  expected  little  more  than  medi- 
ocrity— were  hushed  in  glad  wonder  as  the  sweet 
notes  of  the  songstress  floated  through  the  room. 

Attracted  by  the  sound  of  the  music,  Julius  ap- 
proached the  piano,  and  standing  there  as  he  watched 
the  lights  and  shadows  coming  and  going  in  the  beau- 
tiful face  before  him,  he  felt  that  the  soul  of  the 
singer  was  as  fair  and  unsullied  as  her  voice  was  rich 
and  musical.  Turning  to  Harry,  he  exclaimed  : 

“Is  not  that  exquisite?  I think  she  has  more 
melody  in  her  voice  than  any  one  I ever  heard." 

At  this  instant  Clara  became  enraged  with  jealousy, 
and,  as  she  passed  out  of  the  room,  she  said  in  a low 
but  distinct  voice : 

“ Don’t  bang  all  the  tune  out  of  the  piano,  Kate!  " 

Kate  heard  it,  and  so  did  Harry. 

“Don’t  mind  it,  Katie,"  said  Harry  sympatheti- 
cally, as  she  rose  from  the  piano  and  made  her  way 
up  stairs,  trying  to  conceal  her  emotion  ; but  he  saw 
the  bright  drops  sparkling  on  her  long  lashes  and 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


57 


burning  cheeks,  which  made  her  look  so  pretty  in 
her  woe  that  he  felt  he  could  hold  her  to  his  heart 
forever,  and  shield  her  from  the  baneful  derisions  of 
this  cold  and  mercenary  world.  As  Kate  ascended 
the  stairs,  Clara’s  room  door  was  open,  and  she 
heard  distinctly  every  word  that  was  said,  although 
she  was  not  playing  the  part  of  an  eaves-dropper. 

“ I think  you  performed  as  badly  to-night  as  I ever 
heard  you,”  said  Mrs.  Thorn  whicker,  as  Clara  entered 
the  room,  looking  very  much  out  of  humor.  “ You 
performed  better  the  other  night,  when  you  were 
playing  for  the  servants,”  she  continued,  as  she  went 
before  the  glass  and  smoothed  back  a stray  lock. 

“ I played  as  well  to-night  as  I ever  did,”  said  Clara 
angrily,  “ and  I’m  sure  I don’t  care.  I do  not  like 
the  piano  any  way — it  is  so  common.  I like  the  harp 
much  better,  and  I’m  going  to  have  one,  too ; and 
when  I get  it  I will  remove  the  piano  to  the  nursery, 
and  Kate  can  bang  on  it  as  much  as  she  chooses. 
Thank  gracious,  she  can’t  play  on  the  harp  ! ” 

“Yes,”  said  Mrs.  Thornwhicker,  “Kate  had  to 
plant  herself  at  the  piano,  to-night.  I suppose  she 
feels  herself  highly  complimented,  but  she  need  not, 
for  Julius  Raymont’s  tongue  well  utters  the  language 
of  flattery.  Ah,  well,”  continued  she,  as  she  slammed 
the  door  and  descended  the  stairs,  “that  is  always 


58 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


the  way  with  girls  you  take  out  of  the  ashes.  Set 
them  on  a fire-chunk  and  they  will  get  above  you.” 
Kate,  going  to  her  room  and  finding  no  water,  took 
the  pitcher  and  went  down  for  some,  and  as  she  passed 
the  parlor  she  heard  Mrs.  Thornwhicker  say : 

“I  am  sure  that  I have  not  seen  them  for  a week. ” 
Kate  filled  her  pitcher  and  was  about  to  ascend  the 
stairs,  when  Dr.  Raymont  called  to  her  and  said : 
“Katie,  dear,  do  you  know  anything  of  my  gold 
spectacles?  ” 

“Yes,  uncle,”  answered  Kate,  “ they  are  broken.” 
“ Broken  ? Why,  how  came  they  broken  ? I would 
not  part  with  them  for  five  times  their  worth.” 

“ Mrs.  Thornwhicker  had  them  on  the  night  she 
had  the  fit  and  fell  down  stairs, and  they  were  broken,” 
said  Kate. 

“Oh,  mother  of  all  saints!”  said  Mrs.  Thorn- 
whicker, raising  her  hands  and  looking  daggers  at 
Kate  from  her  piercing  black  eyes.  “I  did  not  have 
a fit;  I only  missed  my  step.” 

“Ah, well!  that  will  do.  It  makes  no  difference. 
I can  get  another  pair  just  like  them,”  said  the  doctor, 
soothingly. 

Kate  went  her  way  rejoicing,  but  the  mortification 
of  Mrs.  Thornwhicker  was  beyond  any  human  power 
to  alleviate.  She  had  set  her  heart  upon  the  rich 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


59 


widower,  and  was  fast  spinning  her  web  to  capture 
him.  When  Kate  got  back  to  her  room  she  found 
Rose  rolling  from  one  side  of  the  bed  to  the  other, 
intoxicated  with  laughter.  She  had  overheard  all 
that  had  passed  concerning  the  doctor’s  spectacles, 
and  she  enjoyed  it  as  much  as  Harry  did  down  stairs. 

Mr.  Baskersville  expressed  a desire  to  retire,  saying 
that  he  was  not  feeling  well,  but  hoped  he  would  feel 
better  after  a good  night’s  rest. 

“Show  Mr.  Baskersville  to  his  room,”  said  Mrs. 
Thorn  whicker  to  a servant.  “Your  room  is  quite 
small,”  she  continued,  “but  it  is  comfortable,  and 
you  will  find  every  thing  convenient  except  a fire, 
which  I am  very  sorry  we  can  not  give  you.  There 
is  no  fire-place  in  the  room,  and  all  the  other  rooms 
are  occupied.” 

This  was  said  in  a low  tone,  for  she  knew  if  Dr. 
Raymont  was  aware  of  her  arrangement  he  would 
arrange  matters  differently. 

“ Come  this  way,  Uncle,”  said  Kate,  who  had  been 
watching  for  him  at  the  head  of  the  stairs ; and  she 
took  him  into  a nicely-furnished  room,  where  a cheer- 
ful fire  was  crackling  and  blazing  in  the  fire-place,  and 
a large  easy-chair  drawn  before  the  fire.  She  set  the 
lamp  upon  the  table,  and,  as  she  turned  to  go,  her 
uncle  laid  a detaining  hand  upon  her  shoulder  and 


6o 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


said:  “You  are  a dear,  good  girl,  Katie;  but  how 

can  you  help  it,  when  your  mother  was  a terrestrial 
angel,  and  you  are  her  image.” 

“No,  Uncle,”  said  Kate,  “I  am  not  good,  but  I 
want  to  be.  Then  I would  have  more  patience,  and 
be  more  submissive  to  the  will  of  God,  who  has  seen 
fit  to  take  my  dear  parents  from  me,  and  subject  me 
to  the  contempt  and  scorn  of  those  who  ought  to  be 
my  kindest  and  best  friends. 

“ Ah,  my  child,”  said  he,  stroking  her  hair,  “your 
poor  uncle’s  heart  throbbed,  to-night,  when  he  heard 
Clara’s  insulting  remarks ; but  do  not  mind  any  thing 
she  may  say  or  do.  You  shall  not  be  compelled  to 
bear  her  insults  much  longer.  Be  of  good  cheer ; 
your  star  will  rise  in  the  east  as  hers  sets  in  the  west. 
It  is  sparkling  now,  but  it  will  soon  go  down.  I hope 
all  things  are  for  the  best.” 

“ Oh,  Rose,  ” said  Kate,  as  she  entered  the  little, 
cheerless  room  that  had  been  fitted  up  by  Mrs.  Thorn- 
whicker  for  her  uncle,  “I  am  so  glad  we  gave  Uncle 
Baskersville  our  room  ! Every  thing  is  so  nice  and 
comfortable  for  him.  If  he  had  slept  in  this  room, 
which  Mrs.  Thornwhicker  intended  for  him,  he  cer- 
tainly would  have  suffered.  He  is  up  all  through  the 
night,  and  scarcely  sleeps  any  on  account  of  that 
dreadful  cough.” 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


61 


The  two  girls  tucked  themselves  snugly  in  bed, 
and  were  going  over  all  the  events  of  the  evening, 
when  the  door  opened,  and  Clara  entered  the  room 
and  said,  sarcastically : 

“I  hope  you  are  resting  comfortably,  young  ladies. 
Kate,  when  did  you  become  a member  of  the  Benevo- 
lent Society  ? ” 

Kate  made  her  no  answer,  but  gave  a deep  sigh  as 
she  drew  the  cover  more  closely  to  protect  her  eyes 
from  the  light  of  Clara’s  lamp. 

“I  say,  Kate,”  said  Clara,  coming  nearer  the  bed, 
“are  you  in  the  arms  of  Morpheus?” 

“No, ” said  Kate,  “I  was  only  thinking.” 

‘ 4 Ah  ! what  were  you  thinking  about — Harry  Bas- 
kersville,  or  the  hole  in  his  coat-sleeve?” 

“ Ah,  Clara,”  said  Kate,  turning  and  looking  her 
full  in  the  face,  4 4 you  need  not  make  such  slack  re- 
marks about  Harry  Baskersville,  because  he  is  poor ; 
for  I tell  you  I would  not  give  him,  with  his  talents, 
his  refinement,  his  piety,  his  noble  qualities,  his 
brilliant  and  instructive  conversation,  for  Julius  Ray- 
mont  arrayed  in  all  his  glory.” 

“ We  differ  widely  in  opinion,  ” said  Clara ; 4 4 1 think 
he  is  very  shallow-brained.” 

44  His  brilliant  lingua  will  prove  that  he  is  Julius 
Raymonds  superior  in  education,”  said  Kate,  “and 


62 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


one  glance  at  him  will  convince  you  that  he  is  much 
the  handsomest  man.” 

“Ah,”  said  Clara,  “when  you  and  Harry  get 
stuck  down  in  a little  log  cabin,  and  you,  perhaps, 
sewing  out  for  your  bread,  you  will  not  give  such 
glowing  descriptions  of  him.” 

“There  is  more  happiness,  sometimes,  in  a log 
cabin  than  in  the  halls  of  the  rich  and  noble,”  said 
Kate.  “ But  I have  no  idea  of  ever  marrying  Harry 
Baskersville,  and  hope  if  he  ever  marry  that  he  may 
find  some  one  more  deserving  than  myself.” 

“ Oh,  you  would  make  a charming  wife  for  Harry,” 
said  Clara,  as  she  walked  out  of  the  room,  “for  your 
aspirations  do  not  rise  higher  than  a log  cabin.” 

Kate  made  no  reply,  but  turned  her  face  to  the 
wall  and  tried  to  compose  herself  to  sleep.  Morpheus, 
however,  refused  to  comfort  her,  and  she  lay  there, 
long  after  the  old  clock  in  the  hall  had  tolled  the  hour 
of  midnight,  thinking  over  all  that  had  happened. 

What  solemn  reflections  arise  at  this  lonely  hour, 
midnight,  if  the  mind  be  attuned  to  them ! If  the 
world  were  spread  out  before  us  like  a map,  what 
varied  emotion  and  feeling,  what  unworthy  striving, 
what  unmerited  suffering,  what  new  lives  born  to 
pain,  what  old  lives  dying  out  in  it,  what  hope,  what 
despair,  what  thoughts  dark  and  bright,  what  flowers 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


63 


of  tender  love,  what  weeds  of  ruthless  circumstances, 
what  souls  born  in  the  mire  and  kept  there,  what 
sounds  of  woe  and  pleasant  fountain  voices  with 
sparkles  in  them,  what  angel  light  and  divine  touches 
of  compassion,  would,  in  the  brief  space  occupied  by 
the  striking  of  the  hour,  there  be  displayed  ! And  so 
the  hours  may  strike,  night  after  night,  for  generation 
after  generation,  until  a time  shall  come  when  every 
human  pulse  that  at  this  moment  beats  through  the 
world,  when  every  heart  that  thrills  and  thirsts,  the 
rich  and  the  poor,  the  lowly  and  the  lofty,  both  great 
and  small,  shall  lie  down  together,  and  dust  shall 
mingle  with  dust. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  BEST  TWO  OUT  OF  THREE,  OR  THE  LITTLE  BARE- 
FOOT ANGEL. 


Morning  broke  ; the  sun  struggled  up  the  mountain 
tops,  and  tossed  the  clouds  right  and  left,  and  stood 
looking  down  upon  all  around.  “A  bright  day  to 
you,  Mother  Earth,”  he  exclaimed,  “and  to  all 
your  inhabitants !”  and  then  he  smiled  gloriously, 
causing  every  thing  within  reach  to  flash  back  a greet- 
ing to  his  honor. 

There  was  one  beneath  the  roof  of  Dr.  Raymonds 
hospitable  mansion  who  welcomed  its  golden  light, 
and  that  one  was  Mr.  Baskersville.  Long  after  mid- 
night he  walked  the  floor,  and  his  hacking  cough  kept 
time  with  his  brother’s  snores  in  the  next  room. 
The  brother  had  declined  the  bed  intended  for  his 
use,  which  graced  the  best  bedroom,  and  was  trimmed 
with  graceful  puffs  of  snowy  lace.  He  straightway 
ordered  a hammock  to  be  swung  from  the  ceiling,  and 
reclined  therein,  consoling  himself  for  the  fatigues  of 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


65 


traveling  by  smoking  an  endless  succession  of  cigar- 
ettes. At  his  head  was  a small  marble  stand,  upon 
which  stood  a decanter  filled  with  choice  wine,  which 
he  occasionally  helped  himself  to.  A blazing  fire 
was  kept  burning  through  the  night,  by  a servant 
that  Mrs.  Thornwhicker  had  ordered  to  remain  in  his 
room  and  administer  to  his  wants  through  the  night, 
while  Mr.  Baskersville,  cold  and  sick,  hovered  over 
a few  coals. 

There  was  one  who  kept  vigil  with  him,  however, 
and  that  one  was  my  humble  self.  Too  much  agitated 
to  sleep,  I seated  myself  before  the  fire  and  tried  to 
read.  Presently,  my  attention  was  directed  to  a rat, 
that  crept  from  under  the  washstand.  With  an  im- 
pulse of  disgust  I seized  the  broom  and  hit  it.  It 
squeeled  and  tottered,  lifting  its  suffering  eyes.  The 
poor  thing  had  been  poisoned ; great  ulcers  were  on 
its  back.  It  was  crawling  from  death,  and  I had  hurt 
it.  Throwing  myself  upon  the  bed,  I cried  aloud  : 
“Vile  wretch  that  I am,  I have  struck  a suffering, 
defenseless  creature ; I have  afflicted  the  afflicted!” 
If  I could  only  have  gathered  the  rat  in  my  lap,  and 
soothed  its  dying  moments ; but  it  dragged  itself  from 
my  sight,  and  left  me  in  everlasting  remorse.  Since 
cruelty  is  a two-edged  sword,  that  falls  back  painfully, 
if  you  use  it  even  against  vermin,  how  it  must  cut  if 
5 


66 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


we  lift  it  against  our  fellow-creatures ! I had  nearly 
wept  myself  to  sleep,  when  a low,  wailing  sob  came 
from  the  lips  of  little  Maud,  who  had  insisted  upon 
rooming  with  me  that  night. 

“Everyone  has  trouble,”  said  I,  as  I stooped 
down  and  kissed  the  little  quivering  lips  of  the 
sleeper,  and  inquired  into  her  trouble. 

“ Oh,  Miss  Montgomery,”  said  she,  “I  was  dream- 
ing of  a little  girl  I saw  in  the  hospital  once,  when  I 
went  there  with  mamma.  I sat  down  by  her  bed  and 
took  her  little,  pale  hand  in  mine,  and  it  was  so  cold  ! ” 
continued  she,  with  a far-away  manner.  * ‘ And  she 
was  so  near  Heaven  that  she  said  she  could  look  in, 
just  like  we,  on  a dark  street  at  night,  can  look  right 
into  lighted  rooms.  I used  to  think  that  the  floor  of 
Heaven  was  soft,  white  clouds — the  upper  side  of  the 
clouds,  you  know — and  that  the  golden  streets  were 
where  the  rays  of  light  from  God’s  face  made  the 
clouds  all  golden,  and  if  the  angels  ever  lost  their  way 
in  Heaven,  they  only  had  to  follow  up  the  paths  to 
reach  His  throne.  But  it  never  seemed  comfortable 
to  me,”  continued  Maud,  “ for  I always  seem  as  if  I 
should  fall  through  if  I stepped  on  the  clouds,  unless 
I happened  to  step  where  the  mountains  held  them 
up.  That  used  to  make  me  shiver,  for  mountains 
always  have  snow  upon  them  in  the  winter,  and  in 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


67 


my  bare  feet  there — ” said  Maud,  coming  to  herself. 
"Oh,  I want  to  ask  you  something,  Miss  Montgom- 
ery,” she  continued:  "do  angels  go  barefooted  in 
Heaven  ? It  seems  to  me  the  strangest  notion.  The 
little  girl  I was  speaking  of,  in  the  hospital,  said  she 
never  had  any  shoes  in  her  life,  and  she  thought  if 
she  could  only  get  into  a pair  once  and  hear  them 
crack,  she’d  be  happy.  She  told  me  she  was  going 
to  die,  but  that  the  nurse  told  her  she  would  get 
plenty  of  shoes  in  Heaven.  Oh,  Miss  Montgomery, 
before  I thought,  I told  her  angels  did  not  wear  shoes, 
that  they  all  went  barefooted,  and  she  just  gave  one 
little  cry ! I would  have  given  any  thing  to  have 
had  time  to  think  it  all  out  as  she  wanted  it ; but  she 
went  off  to  sleep,  and  never  awoke  again.  She  had 
the  saddest  little  face  in  her  coffin,  I ever  saw,  and  I 
could  not  help  crying.” 

Maud  looked  truly  sorrowful,  but  her  face  illumin- 
ated when  I told  her  that  one  look  at  God’s  face 
would  brighten  the  sad  little  face  and  sweeten  all  the 
life  that  trailed  in  behind  it. 

Child-like,  Maud  soon  dried  her  tears,  and  went 
off  to  sleep  again  to  dream  of  the  little  barefoot  angeL 
My  thoughts,  however,  continued  to  flow,  as  I looked 
back  upon  the  drama  of  my  life,  and  rehearsed  it 
gravely  and  steadily  up  to  the  present  moment. 


68 


HOSE  SHERWOOD. 


The  sum  of  our  imaginary  woe  becomes  at  last  so 
great  that  one  is  moved  to  examine  and  analyze  it. 
Is  it  well  or  is  it  ill  that  our  soft  hearts  should  thus 
be  “ idly  stirred?  ” What  is  the  use  or  significance 
of  tears,  and  are  we  the  better  or  the  worse  for  them  ? 

Was  the  acute  Greek  right,  when  he  approved  the 
action  of  tragedy  as  “ paralyzing  ” the  soul  through 
“ pity  and  terror?”  or  shall  we  abide  by  the  austere 
decision  of  that  modern  classic,  Dr.  Newman  : “ God 
has  made  us  feel  in  order  that  we  may  go  on  to  act 
in  consequence  of  feeling.  If,  then,  we  allow  our 
feelings  to  be  excited  without  acting  upon  them,  we 
do  mischief  to  the  moral  system  within  us;  just  as 
we  might  spoil  a watch,  or  other  piece  of  mechanism, 
by  playing  with  the  wheels  of  it.  We  weaken  the 
springs,  and  they  cease  to  act  trusty.” 

It  is  a pleasant  and  plausible  supposition  that  both 
of  these  authorities  are  right.  There  are  two  kinds 
of  pathos,  each  frequently  exemplified  by  the  per- 
plexed authors  of  the  present  day.  One  invigorates 
the  moral  sense,  the  other  enervates  it;  one  is  fruitful, 
the  other  barren ; one  true,  the  other  false.  The 
true  pathos  deals  chiefly  with  the  average  conditions 
and  probable  results  of  life,  which,  God  knows,  are 
sad  enough ; the  false  seeks  curiously  for  unparalleled 
misfortunes.  The  true  is  mostly  incidental,  often 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


69 


unconscious ; the  false  is  always  deliberate.  And 
since,  after  all,  an  exclusive  or  exaggerated  sense  of 
human  misery  means  simply  madness,  the  true  pathos 
is,  above  every  thing,  shy  in  habit,  simple  and  mod- 
erate in  speech,  while  the  false,  appealing  to  coarse 
sensibilities,  employs,  to  produce  its  effect,  all  arts 
known  and  unknown  to  rhetoric,  and  makes,  as 
Matthew  Arnold  says  of  Byron,  a “pageant  of  its 
bleeding  heart.”  From  the  touch  of  the  true  pathos 
we  always  rise  with  a corrected  sense  of  our  relations 
to  the  world;  humble,  in  view  of  our  advantages, 
and  patient  of  our  deprivations.  From  the  presence 
of  the  false  we  are  apt  to  rebound,  with  the  selfish 
and  childish  reflections  that  what  has  moved  us  is 
only  a story,  and  that  things  are  not  so  bad  after  all. 
Then  we  marshal  each  his  author  to  show  who  made 
us  cry,  why  he  made  us  cry,  whether  we  ought  to 
have  cried,  and  whether  we  cried  to  any  purpose. 
“But  these  tears,  after  the  Jewish  fashion,  we  put 
into  a bottle,  and  reserve  for  the  next  month.” 

Kate  woke  up  next  morning  very  much  astonished 
and  bewildered  at  finding  Mrs.  Thornwhicker  in  her 
room,  who  kissed  her  most  compassionately,  and  said 
mischievously : 

“You  lazy  girls,  you  had  better  get  up  or  you’ll 


70 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


lose  your  breakfast ! Oh,  you  are  such  a good  girl, 
Kate ! It  was  so  kind  of  you  to  give  up  your  room 
to  your  uncle.  I was  really  uneasy  about  him  last 
night,  for  I heard  him  coughing  all  through  the  night. 
I will  send  him  a good  hot  breakfast  to  his  room, 
and  a good  hot  punch  wouldn’t  do  him  any  harm.” 

“ Soft  soap  and  moonshine!”  thought  Kate,  as  she 
raised  herself  up  and  leaned  on  her  elbow,  rubbing 
her  eyes  to  see  if  she  was  dreaming,  and  wondering 
what  was  going  to  happen. 

“You  bad  girl,  you,”  she  continued ; “you  don’t 
know  how  you  did  tease  me,  when  you  told  the  doc- 
tor that  I had  a fit  and  fell  down  stairs  and  broke  his 
glasses ; and  I truly  think  they  every  one  believe  it ! 
Of  course  you  did  not  say  it  intentionally.  Now,  I 
want  you  to  tell  your  uncle,  when  you  go  down,  that 
you  were  only  teasing  me  because  I fell,  and  that  I 
did  not  have  a fit — won’t  you?” 

Kate  was  a good  metaphysician,  and  soon  unraveled 
the  tangled  problem  as  to  why  it  was  that  she  had 
become  so  affectionate,  and  why  her  sympathies  had 
been  so  suddenly  stirred  toward  Mr.  Baskersville. 

“Get  up,  Rose,”  said  she,  after  Mrs.  Thornwhicker 
had  left  the  room.  “You  have  missed  it  all;  we 
have  been  visited  by  an  angel ! ” 

“A  fallen  angel!”  said  Rose,  who  had  a natural 


ROSE  SHERWOOD.  7 I 

dislike  for  Mrs.  Thornwhicker  from  the  first  hour  she 
saw  her. 

“I  wonder  what  is  going  to  happen?  She  must 
be  under  conviction,”  said  Kate. 

It  was  the  first  time  Mrs.  Thornwhicker  had  ever 
kissed  Kate.  The  first  few  weeks  of  their  acquaint- 
ance, after  the  former  had  been  introduced  into  Dr. 
Raymonds  family,  she  beamed  upon  her  quite  gra- 
ciously, supposing  her  to  be,  at  least,  a rich  relative  of 
the  family,  but  when  she  discovered  simply  a poor 
relation  and  an  orphan,  her  arrogant  pride  asserted 
itself.  From  henceforth  contemptuous  glances  and 
insults,  veiled  but  exasperating,  and  slights,  small 
but  piercing  like  needles,  were  directed  at  her. 

Kate  Winchester  was  one  of  those  fortunate  indi- 
viduals whom  God  endows  with  active  brain,  healthy 
body,  and  that  peculiar  trait  which  is  best  charac- 
terized as  “spirit.”  I say  fortunate,  because  she 
was  left  v/hen  a mere  child  to  the  charity  of  the  world, 
which,  as  every  one  knows,  somewhat  resembles  that 
of  certain  Indian  tribes — letting  the  weakly  children 
die,  lest  they  become  troublesome.  But  the  world 
honors  spirit ; and,  when  it  was  seen  that  the  little 
maiden  was  determined  to  beat  down  all  opposition 
with  her  tiny  fist,  it  straightway  smiled  upon  her. 
People  called  her  cold,  and  perhaps  she  merited  the 


72 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


epithet,  for  her  manner  was  certainly  very  indifferent 
toward  those  whom  she  had  no  wish  to  conciliate. 
She  read  characters  quickly — too  quickly  to  be  popu- 
lar with  the  masses,  generally,  who  do  not  much 
wish  camera  obscura  exhibitions,  and  when  Kate  once 
found  there  was  nothing.worth  liking  or  cultivating 
in  a character,  that  character  would  become  almost 
a nonentity  to  her ; but  let  her  once  thoroughly 
respect  a friend,  she  was  as  warm-hearted  and  affec- 
tionate, and  far  more  true  than  the  majority  of  her  sex. 

As  Kate  was  making  her  way  down  stairs,  she  met 
a servant  with  a large  waiter,  directing  his  steps 
toward  Mr.  Baskersville’s  room. 

“See,”  said  Kate,  pointing  to  the  waiter,  “what 
virtue  there  is  in  broken  spectacles!  *\ 

“ If  you  please,  be  a little  more  explicit,”  said  Rose, 
“I  don’t  like  problems — before  breakfast,  at  least.  ” 
“ Why,  I mean  simply  this, ’’said  Kate  : “ If  it  had 
not  been  for  Dr.  Raymont’s  spectacles,  we  would  not 
have  had  the  exquisite  pleasure  of  seeing  that  waiter 
going  to  Uncle  Baskersville’s  room  this  morning.” 
“You  are  the  strangest  girl  I ever  saw,”  said  Rose. 
“What  has  that  waiter  to  do  with  Dr.  Raymont’s 
spectacles?  ” 

“Oh,  I forgot  that  you  were  not  awake  when  Mrs. 
Thornwhicker  made  her  morning  call.” 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


73 


“No;  I awoke  just  as  she  was  leaving  the  room. 
What  did  she  want?” 

“She  wanted  me  to  tell  Uncle  Raymont  that  she 
did  not  have  a fit  when  she  fell  and  broke  his  glasses 
the  other  night,  and  say  also  that  I was  only  joking.” 

“As  if  you  would  tell  a falsehood  for  her!”  said 
Rose.  “I’d  see  her  in  Hayti  first!  She  is  only 
trying  to  catch  him  because  he  is  rich.  She  looks 
as  if  she  had  been  blown  out  of  a volcano ! ” 

“Yes,”  said  Kate,  “she  thinks  she  will  get  into 
my  good  graces  by  being  kind  to  Uncle  Baskersville. 
As  for  me,  I am  glad  the  spectacles  were  broken,  for 
his  sake.” 

Mr.  Raymont  ate  sumptuously  of  Mrs.  Thorn- 
whicker’s  hot  rolls,  fried  chicken,  and  eggs.  The 
latter,  he  said,  were  boiled  a little  too  hard,  and  the 
biscuits  had  a little  too  much  soda  in  them.  The 
coffee,  too,  was  not  quite  strong  enough.  He  kept 
up  such  a strain  of  complaints  that  our  fastidious 
housekeeper’s  face  was  burning  red  with  indignation  ; 
yet  she  poured  out  the  coffee  with  indolent  grace, 
and  chatted  and  flattered  him  with  soft,  caressing 
nothings. 

“ I have  beaten  you  the  best  two  out  of  three!  ” 
I heard  some  one  say  as  I strolled  into  the  drawing- 


room. 


74 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


“Yes,  you  have  beaten  me,  Cousin  Harry, ’’said 
Kate;  “and  you  have  won  the  prize.  If  I had  a 
sunflower  and  a few  hollyhocks  I would  weave  for 
your  majesty  a couronne .” 

“I  will  get  you  some  cedar  and  holly-berries,”  said 
Maud,  who  had  been  watching*  the  game.  “I  think 
they  will  look  better  than  hollyhocks.” 

Maud  scampered  away,  but  soon  returned  with  the 
evergreen  and  holly-berries,  and  the  couronne  was  made 
and  placed  upon  the  head  of  the  gallant  knight,  as 
he  kneeled  at  the  feet  of  his  fair  queen. 

Harry  was  very  much  surprised,  upon  going  to  his 
room  that  night,  to  And  a package  laying  upon  his 
dressing-stand  directed  to  him. 

“What  does  this  mean?”  said  he,  as  he  opened 
the  package  and  found  therein  a handsome  suit  of 
clothes,  forgetting  all  about  the  bet  Kate  had  made 
with  him ; but  when  he  saw  the  little  card  that  was 
pinned  on  the  coat-collar,  he  smiled  and  said  : “ Who 
would  have  thought  it?” 

Kate  had  proposed  to  Harry  to  have  a game  of 
chess,  and  bet  a suit  of  clothes  against  a set  of  jew- 
elry that  she  could  beat  him  the  “best  two  out  of 
three,”  and  allowed  herself  to  be  beaten  in  order  to 
present  Harry  with  a new  suit  without  making  him 
feel  embarrassed. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


A GRAND  RECEPTION — A HOLE  IN  HARRY’S  COAT-SLEEVE. 


The  weeks  passed  by  in  sweet  procession,  until 
they  brought  the  choicest  time  of  all  the  year — 
Christmas.  As  for  me,  there  was  a wonderful  light 
on  sea  and  land.  Whatever  others  thought,  I knew 
the  light  wreaths  of  snow  that  gleamed  on  every  tree 
were  garlands  thrown  down  by  the  angels  in  honor  of 
their  King.  The  bells  that  chimed  through  the  air, 
like  archangels’  harps,  were  harbingers  of  peace  and 
joy.  Every  room  was  bright  with  leaping  Christmas 
fires,  and  every  one  was  merry  as  marriage  bells. 
Far  in  the  east  was  the  Star  of  Bethlehem,  twinkling 
and  blazing  in  adoring  reverence,  as  it  did  on  the 
night  when  it  came  and  rested  over  the  Ark  of  the 
Covenant,  as  a guide  for  the  good  shepherds.  When 
the  joyful  news  of  the  soul-cheering  message  was 
echoed  and  reverberated  over  the  hills  and  through 
the  dales  of  Bethlehem,  they  knew  that  Jehovah 
was  there. 


;6 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


Yes,  it  was  Christmas,  and  Clara  Raymont  hailed 
it  with  delight.  Her  cards  for  a fancy  party  had  been 
out  for  several  days,  and  this  evening  was  to  witness 
the  assemblage  of  the  guests.  The  rooms  were  beau- 
tifully decorated  with  graceful  wreaths  of  cedar,  ivy, 
and  holly-berries,  while  rare  flowers  of  the  brightest 
tints  and  beauty  shone  ever  and  anon  amid  the  rich 
vuidarious , as  the  most  brilliant  chandeliers  cast  their 
sparkling  glow  over  the  whole. 

Clara  and  Julius  were  the  ruling  spirits  of  each  gay 
scene,  and  even  Kate  seemed  for  a time  to  forsake 
her  shy  manner  and  forget  her  quiet  way.  She  was 
dressed  “in  deep  mourning,  which  was  very  becoming 
to  her  fair  complexion,  and  all  the  ornament  she 
wore  was  a white  rose  in  her  golden  hair,  that  Harry 
had  put  there,  emblematically,  he  said. 

Clara  looked  beautiful  in  her  regal  robe  of  white 
and  crimson,  with  its  sweeping  train  and  ermine 
finish,  while  the  fairness  of  her  complexion  was  en- 
hanced, if  possible,  by  the  dazzling  rays  of  the  pearls 
and  diamonds  which  shone  in  the  waves  of  her  dark 
hair,  and  upon  her  neck  and  arms.  Julius  was  ever 
at  her  side.  She  dealt  in  magic;  it  was  a perfect 
blessing  to  be  near  her,  to  catch  the  light  and  warmth 
of  the  thousand  glances  which  fell  upon  him,  and 
which  she  caught  in  return.  He  was  desperately 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


77 


enamored  with  her  charms,  and  in  the  presence  of  fair 
Luna  doffed  his  hat  and  laid  his  fortune  at  the  feet  of 
the  dark-eyed  beauty. 

Thus  the  fair  Clara  took  Julius  captive  at  her  will, 
and  he  yielded  himself  a prisoner,  and  permitted  her 
to  bind  him  with  the  silken  cords  of  love. 

“I  believe  in  love  at  first  sight, ’’said  he,  taking 
out  his  pocket  handkerchief  for  the  twentieth  time  to 
wipe  the  perspiration  from  his  face.  * ‘ A man  of  soul 
is  able  to  tell,  in  a week,  whether  a woman  would  do 
for  a wife.  The  judgment  of  true  love  is  intuitive — 
a glance,  and  it  is  done.  A man  of  genius  has  in  his 
love  an  unexplainable  model,  the  prototype  to  which 
exists  somewhere  in  reality,  although  he  may  never 
have  seen  or  heard  of  her.  This  is  wonderful,  but  it 
is  true.  He  wanders  about  the  world,  impervious  to 
all  the  delicious,  thrilling,  soul-melting  beams  of 
beauty,  till  he  reaches  the  right  one.  There  are  blue 
eyes  ; they  are  tender,  but  they  touch  not  him — there 
are  black  eyes ; they  are  piercing,  but  his  heart  re- 
mains whole.  At  length,  accident  throws  him  into 
contact  with  a creature;  he  hears  the  tone  of  her 
voice,  he  feels  the  warm  streams  of  soul  shining 
from  her  countenance ; gaze  meets  gaze,  and  thoughts 
sparkle  into  thoughts,  till  the  magic  blaze  is  kindled. 
That  blaze,”  said  he,  taking  both  her  hands  in  his, 


78 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


“was  kindled  the  moment  I was  first  permitted  to 
look  upon  your  lovely  face.” 

At  this  moment  some  one  approached,  and  the 
conversation  languished.  Presently,  the  band  played 
one  of  Strauss’  waltzes,  and  Julius  Raymont  delivered 
himself  up  to  its  ecstacies,  and,  taking  Clara  by  the 
arm,  swept  down  among  the  dancers,  and  flashed 
through  the  waltz,  and  imagined  himself  one  of  the 
happiest  men  on  earth.  Clara  was  happy,  too,  at  the 
thought  of  coming  into  possession  of  such  a large 
fortune. 

Julius  was  good-looking,  she  thought,  and  she 
would  soon  learn  to  love  him;  but  she  could  not 
help  thinking  that  Harry  Baskersvill^  was  one  'of  the 
most  handsome  men  she  had  ever  seen,  and  wondered 
at  his  graceful,  unembarrassed  elegance  as  he  moved 
through  each  set  or  conversed  with  the  various  per- 
sons who  approached  him.  She  soon  discovered  that 
his  office  of  prompter  was  quite  superfluous.  He 
acted  his  own  character  to  perfection.  How  could 
he  fail  when  his  whole  heart  was  in  the  acting? 

“Harry  has  created  quite  a sensation  to-night!” 
said  Mrs.  Thornwhicker,  approaching  Clara,  who  had 
not  failed  to  perceive  it.” 

“Yes,”  said  Clara,  “ his  new  suit  adds  considerably 
to  his  looks.  I did  not  know  he  had  another  suit 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


79 


with  him,  as  I have  not  seen  any  baggage.  I have 
been  afraid  to  look  at  him  all  night,  for  fear  the  first 
thing  that  met  my  gaze  would  be  the  hole  in  his  coat- 
sleeve.” 


CHAPTER  VII. 


CLARA  RAYMONT’S  BRIDAL  NIGHT A SHOWER  OF  TEARS. 


Within  the  mansion  of  Dr.  Raymont  was  gathered 
another  brilliant  throng.  Priceless  jewels  and  costly 
fabrics  gleamed  and  rustled ; from  every  window 
bright  lights  streamed,  casting  broad  bands  of  radi- 
ance far  out  over  the  soft  grass  and  graveled  pave- 
ment, penetrating  even  to  the  secluded  walks  among 
trees  and  shrubs,  and  lighting,  here  and  there,  in 
quivering  gleams.  Borne  upon  the  air  were  sweet 
strains  of  melody,  rising  and  falling,  now  swelling 
higher  and  higher  in  loud,  joyous,  triumphant  tones, 
and  again  breathing  low  and  sweet  as  the  gentle 
whispering  breeze  among  the  forest  trees. 

It  was  the  bridal  night  of  Clara  Raymont.  The 
marriage  was  one  of  uncommon  splendor.  The 
wealthy,  the  gay,  and  the  fashionable,  were  there. 
What  a splendid  bridegroom — what  a beautiful 
bride!  At  the  wedding  there  were  chivalry  and 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


8 


beauty,  courtesy  and  gallantry,  wisdom  and  wit. 
White  satin,  white  veils,  white  ribbons,  white  gloves, 
white  vests,  and  appropriate  flowers  were  in  profu- 
sion. 

“There  never  was  a more  suitable  couple  united 
since  the  first  marriage  in  the  garden  of  Eden,”  said 
old  Mr.  Raymont,  coming  up  to  Mrs.  Thornwhicker 
and  giving  her  a severe  pinch  on  the  arm  that  almost 
caused  her  to  scream  with  pain. 

After  the  ceremony  was  performed,  two  large  fold- 
ing doors  were  suddenly  thrown  open,  which  revealed 
a gorgeous  table  in  all  the  splendor  of  wax-lights, 
flowers  and  silver.  After  supper,  the  company  re- 
turned to  the  ball-room  and  kept  up  the  dancing  till 
four  in  the  morning. 

The  wedding  was  the  most  splendid  one  ever  given 
in  the  country.  It  was  one  of  those  weddings,  too, 
for  which  we  sometimes  predict  a leisurely  repent- 
ance. Love  at  first  sight,  followed  by  a very  brief 
courtship,  and  then  the  wedding,  friends’  congratula- 
tions, kisses,  tears,  laughter  and  supper,  which  they 
ate,  no  doubt,  looking  shyly  at  each  other,  and  won- 
dering whether  it  could  be  possible  that  they  were 
husband  and  wife.  Was  it  a dream  that  had  come 
true,  or  only  a dream,  a drama,  or  that  out  of  which 
all  dramas. are  made — a mirage  of  sun  and  mist  on 


82 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


the  horizon  of  realities?  It  was  natural,  coming  to- 
gether, as  they  did,  that  they  should  know  very  little 
of  each  other  in  regard  to  those  details  of  the  life 
before  them  on  which  so  very  much  depends  in  the 
course  of  time.  They  did  not  know  much  of  the 
world  they  had  lived  in,  and  nothing  at  all  of  the 
world  they  were  entering.  She  was  beginning  this 
wedded  life,  as  so  many  of  our  girls  do,  without  the 
fine,  sturdy  womanhood  of  the  open  air,  with  a bloom 
on  her  face  like  that  you  see  on  the  blossoms  in  a hot- 
house. Since  they  first  met  it  had  been  Eden  un- 
fallen, with  the  dew  of  heaven  on  it.  Did  they  won- 
der whether  a brief  space  would  find  them  outside 
their  Eden,  in  among  the  thorns  and  briers,  with  a 
flaming  sword  at  the  gate  forbidding  their  return  ? I 
can  only  wonder — I can  not  tell.  They  may  have 
thought  of  this,  and  wondered  whether  their  trust  in 
each  other  would  ever  come  to  such  an  end  as  that. 
He  had  swept  suddenly  into  the  circle  of  her  life, 
filling  up  the  picture  she  had  in  her  heart  of  the  man 
she  would  marry.  Although  a relative,  she  really 
knew  no  more  about  him  than  he  knew  about  her. 
She  had  only  heard  of  his  wealth,  that  glittering  ore 
which  builds  around  all  human  sympathy  a wall  of 
adamantine.  Would  he  turn  out  selfish  or  self-for- 
getful, or  she  a frivolous  gossip  or  a woman  he  could 


ROSE  SHERWOOD.  83 

not  trust  like  his  own  soul.  Would  the  sunshine 
break  out  in  his  face  as  he  entered  his  own  door, 
and  meet  the  sunshine  breaking  out  in  hers?  Or 
would  he  be  pleasant  to  every  other  human  and  save 
all  his  snarls  until  he  entered  his  own  home,  shut  the 
door  and  sat  down  to  supper,  and  she  give  him  back 
his  own  with  usury? 

There  it  all  lay  before  them — the  vast,  unknown 
possibility,  leading  to  heaven  or  to  hell,  by  the  time 
they  get  to  their  silver  wedding.  These  young  people 
have  yet  to  find  each  other  out.  They  may  do  it  as 
soon  as  their  marriage  was  accomplished,  or  they 
may  spend  a life-time  in  the  discovery.  Some  married 
people  find  each  other  out  as  I have  read  of  mariners 
finding  out  the  polar  world.  They  leave  the  shores 
of  their  single  life  in  the  spring  days,  with  tears  and 
benedictions,  sail  on  awhile  in  sunshine  and  fair 
weather,  and  then  find  their  way,  little  by  little,  into 
the  cold  latitudes,  where  they  see  the  sun  set  day  by 
day,  and  feel  the  frost  creep  in,  until  they  give  up  at 
last  and  turn  to  icicles  while  sitting  at  the  same  table. 
Others,  again,  find  each  other  out  as  we  have  been 
finding  out  this  continent.  They  nestle  down  at  first 
among  the  meadows,  close  by  the  clear  streams ; then 
they  go  on  through  a belt  of  shadow,  lose  their  way, 
and  find  it  again  the  best  they  know,  and  come  out 


84 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


into  a large  horizon  and  a better  land.  They  meet 
difficult  hills  and  climb  them  together,  strike  deserts 
and  dismal  places  and  cross  them  together,  and  so,  at 
last,  they  stand  on  the  further  reaches  of  the  moun- 
tains, and  see  the  other  ocean  sunning  itself,  placid 
and  still,  and  then  their  journey  ends.  But  through 
shadow  and  sunshine  they  keep  together,  right  on  to 
the  end.  They  allow  no  danger,  disaster,  or  difference 
to  divide  them,  and  no  third  person  to  interfere;  for, 
if  they  do,  it  may  be  as  if  William  and  Mary  of 
England  had  permitted  the  great  Louis  to  divide  their 
throne  by  first  dividing  their  hearts. 

God  grant  that  so  it  may  be  with  these  twain  in 
their  far-a^ay  home.  They  should  keep  together, 
and  when  the  arm  fails,  and  the  mount  of  glittering 
ore  moulders  away  and  leaves  nothing  but  extraneous 
matter,  the  heart  would  still  abide  in  its  old  beautiful 
strength,  and  they  would  find  well-springs  in  their 
driest  deserts,  and  gleams  of  sunlight  stealing  through 
their  darkest  shadows. 

But  kind  and  gentle  reader,  as  we  go  along  side  by 
side  with  this  romantic  and  loving  couple,  do  not  let 
us  forget  our  little  heroine,  Rose  Sherwood,  to  whom 
much  honor  is  due,  and  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for 
the  title  of  our  most  worthy  volume. 
******** 

“ I am  very  sorry,  Miss  Rose,  that  you  had  to  part 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


85 


so  soon  with  Mr.  Chesterfield,”  said  a sneering  voice 
in  one  corner  of  the  room.  “ Why  did  you  not  keep 
him  longer?” 

I looked  around,  and  was  not  a little  surprised  at 
seeing  the  same  individual  who  had  discussed  Rose 
and  Egbert  Chesterfield  at  the  railroad  station,  on  the 
eve  of  our  departure  from  Newport.  The  hot  blood 
rushed  to  Rose’s  face,  and  her  pulse  beat  fast  as  she 
listened.  When  he  was  quite  through  she  raised  her 
head,  lifted  her  heavy  lashes,  and  looked  at  him 
gravely.  A hard  smile  was  upon  her  lips,  a bitter 
light  in  her  eyes,  and  she  spoke  with  an  effort : 

“This  is  hardly  a case  requiring  much  sympathy 
or  regret,  Captain  Cranshaw  ; and  the  next  time  you 
select  the  Newport  depot  to  discuss  a lady  in,  and 
the  way-train  passengers  for  an  audience,  I hope  you 
will  mention  the  ten  thousand-dollar  security  debt 
my  father  has  to  pay  for  you  next  month ! ” 

As  she  said  this  she  arose  and  walked  out  upon  the 
veranda,  where  the  cool  breeze  might  kiss  her  burn- 
ing cheeks.  “ What  a lovely  night ! ” she  murmured 
to  herself,  “and  yet  there  is  no  comfort  for  me  in  its 
beauty.  If  only  the  darkness  would  cover  all,  and 
clouds  shut  out  the  sun  ! All  outside  is  hopeful  and 
lovely,  and  I am  wretched  and  miserable.” 

Some  one  whom  the  shadow  had  hidden  came 
slowly  to  her  side  and  said  : 


86 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


“I  have  been  looking  for  you,  Cousin  Rose,  and 
here  you  are  with  that  same  old  brown  study  which 
you  are  accustomed  to  wear.  Do  tell  me  what  tangled 
problems  of  life  are  so  rapidly  deepening  the  lines  on 
that  white  brow  of  yours,  and  darkening  the  shadows 
in  your  eyes/' 

“Not  exactly  a brown  study, ” answered  Rose. 

“ I had  just  been  repeating  one  of  Scott's  poems, 
when  these  sober  thoughts  came  to  my  mind,  and 
there  is  so  much  reality  in  them  that  I found  myself 
repeating  more  than  once: 

‘ O,  mirth,  where  is  thy  joy  ? 

O,  pleasure,  how  far  art  thou  removed  from  real  happiness  ! ’ ’* 

“ Are  you  not  happy,  Cousin  Rose?”  said  Harry, 
looking  at  her  tenderly. 

“I  can  not  say,  Cousin  Harry, ’’said  she,  “that  I 
am  either  happy  or  miserable.” 

And  here  they  discussed  the  philosophy  of  events, 
and  Harry  adopted  the  views  of  Buckle,  1 ‘ that  human 
beings  necessarily  acted  by  the  impulse  of  outward 
circumstances  upon  the  mental  and  bodily  condition,” 
while  Rose  controverted  the  theory,  and  maintained 
that  they  acted  rather  from  the  impulse  of  some  qual-  ► 
ity  within  themselves,  unaffected  by  outward  circum- 
stances. The  discussion  languished  at  length,  and 
there  had  been  silence  for  a little  space,  when  Harry 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


87 


said:  44  Excuse  me,  Cousin  Rose;  I have  a letter  for 
you.  It  was  handed  to  me  at  the  post-office,  and  1 
forgot  to  deliver  it.” 

Rose  took  the  letter  and  stole  away  from  the  rev- 
elers. She  hastily  broke  the  seal,  and  found  therein 
a little  scroll  from  Egbert  Chesterfield,  upon  which  a 
few  words  were  traced,  asking  her  to  release  him 
from  their  marriage  engagement ; that  he  would  leave 
shortly  for  South  America,  and  would  remain  there 
ten  years ; therefore,  he  would  release  her  from  the 
engagement,  as  he  did  not  think  it  just  for  her  to 
make  the  sacrifice  ; but  if  she  was  yet  unmarried  when 
he  returned,  they  would  renew  the  engagement,  if  it 
was  agreeable  to  her. 

Such  harshness  cut  her  to  the  heart,  and  she  wept 
in  all  the  hopelessness  of  despairing  love.  It  is  need- 
less to  attempt  to  describe  the  dismay  and  affliction 
of  the  fair  girl  at  this  blow  ; but,  though  dismayed 
by  its  suddenness,  she  sank  not  beneath  its  force.  . For 
hours  grief  reigned  uncontrollable,  when  the  violence 
of  her  emotion  gave  place  to  the  calmness  of  despair. 

4t  Why  do  I go  on  loving  him  still  ? ” she  asked  her- 
self, reddening  with  shame  at  the  confession,  44  when 
I know  him  to  be  so  utterly  unworthy.  He  is  not 
the  man  I love,  and  yet  his  face  is  always  before  my 
eyes,  his  voice  in  my  ears.  How  I wrould  despise 


88 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


any  other  girl  for  such  weakness!  No,  nor  will  I be 
guilty  of  such  weakness!  I will  not  think  of  him;  I 
will  not  love  him,  if  there  is  any  power  on  earth  to 
conquer  love!’' 

This  resolution  lent  a transient  glow  to  her  cheek 
and  vigor  to  her  nerve.  After  a few  moments’  thought 
she  arose  and  dashed  a tear  from  her  eyes,  and  took 
from  her  portmanteau  a scrap  of  paper,  and  wrote 
the  following  words : 

“ Egbert,  you  are  free  ! ” 

An  hour  later  she  wandered  into  the  parlor,  just  as 
some  of  the  guests  were  asked  to  play,  and  no  one 
observed  her.  She  was  quite  herself  now,  and  she 
answered  without  any  hesitation,  as  it  would  appear, 
with  perfect  truth  and  composure,  and  never  waived 
the  subject,  nor  winced  under  the  ordeal,  not  even 
when  Mrs.  Thornwhicker  glanced  over  the  daily  paper 
and  called  to  her  : 

“.Did  you  see  this,  Rose,  dear?  Here  is  Mr. 
Chesterfield  a passenger  on  the  Eclipse  for  South 
America.  Did  you  know  about  it,  dear?” 

Can  any  of  our  readers  imagine  the  agony  of  this 
poor  girl’s  heart  as  she  listened  to  these  gossips, 
knowing  she  was  the  victim,  and  took  in  the  truth — 
that  the  one  into  whose  keeping  she  had  given  her 
whole  heart  was  utterly  false  and  unworthy  of  her 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


89 


love  and  had  not  only  deceived  her,  but  made  her  a 
victim  to  the  most  contemptible  vice  on  earth,  gossip. 
One  must  have  passed  through  this  fiery  furnace  in 
order  to  comprehend  how  fiery  it  is.  But  the  ma- 
lignant smile  that  crossed  Captain  Cranshaw’s  lips 
aroused  her  sufficiently  to  prevent  her  giving  way  to 
the  sensation  of  hopeless  desolation  that  had  oppressed 
her  before,  but  could  not  allay  the  dull,  heavy  pain 
at  her  heart,  and  she  spoke  with  perfect  composure, 
as  she  slowly  turned  over  the  music  : 

“ He  has  often  spoken  of  visiting  South  America, 
but  I have  never  heard  him  speak  of  any  particular 
time  for  the  journey.” 

Then  there  flashed  across  her  memory,  like  the 
corruscations  of  a Southern  night,  the  hours  he  had 
spent  with  her  describing  the  gorgeous  scenes  of  the 
Amazon,  and  the  canons  of  the  Andes.  How  his 
imagination  had  taken  fire  with  the  subject,  and  he 
had  painted  it  all  with  warmth  and  delight,  as  if  they 
were  one  day  to  explore  that  fair  land  together.  Yet 
she  must  go  on  with  her  life,  all  the  same  as  if  no 
eclipse  had  interposed,  as  if  she  had  not  heard  the 
thunder  of  fate  rebuking  her,  nor  seen  its  sharp  light- 
ning divide  her  heaven ; and  she  did  go  on  all  the 
same  to  outward  appearances.  After  that  the  days’ 
pleasures  went  on  ; people  arrived  and  departed  ; the 


9o 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


sun  shone  ; little  clouds  blew  across  the  sky  ; the  hills 
frowned  down  like  impending  thunder  clouds,  and  the 
earth  turned  on  its  axis  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
Rose  never  doubted,  after  that  first  moment,  that  he 
had  gone  from  her  forever.  She  gave  him  up  at  once, 
then  and  there,  without  reservation,  never  hoping  to 
see  his  face  again.  Another  girl  might  have  looked 
for  his  return,  but  she  never  did  ; another  might  have 
given  herself  over  to  melancholy  and  bitterness,  but 
she  forebore.  There  was  that  in  her  heart  which  was 
stronger  than  pain,  which  wrestled  with  it,  which 
wearied  but  never  gave  up  the  strife  ; but  all  the  same 
she  hated  the  long,  sickly,  yellow  summer  days,  with 
blue  vapors  curling  about  the  hills ; the  haunted 
silence  of  the  late  season,  and,  more  than  all,  the 
warm,  pattering  rains,  that  drifted  from  the  eaves 
and  pattered  on  the  balconies,  and  tired  her  with 
strange  intonings  of  grief. 

And  now  for  a time  we  will  leave  her  with  her  grief, 
trusting  that  ere  long  He  who  afflicts  to  heal  will 
translate  her  sorrows  into  promised  joy,  and  raise 
her  from  the  grave  of  buried  hopes  o’er  which  she 
lingers,  plucking  the  flowers  of  memory  and  pressing 
them  to  her  wounded  heart,  which  sends  forth  a sigh 
of  sadness  in  response  to  the  requiem  sung  by  the 
passing  breeze  to  departed  joy. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THE  BRIDAL  TOUR A SAD  DISAPPOINTMENT. 


“Uncle, ’’said  Kate,  coming  up  to  Dr.  Raymont 
and  putting  her  arms  around  his  neck,  “can  I go 
home  with  Uncle  Baskersville ? Say  yes,  uncle; 
please  do,”  continued  she,  pleadingly.  “I  want  to 
go  so  very  much,  for  I have  never  visited  him,  and 
he  is  so  anxious  for  me  to  go.” 

The  doctor  hesitated  a moment  and  said : 

“Well,  I suppose  you  will  have  to  go,  but  I hate 
to  give  you  up.  We  will  be  so  lonely,  and  besides  I 
am  afraid  you  will  not  enjoy  your  visit  as  much  as 
you  anticipate.  You  know  that  your  uncle  is  in 
reduced  circumstances,  poor  man,  and  is  not  able  to 
make  you  as  comfortable  as  he  could  wish.  There 
will  be  no  one  there  but  your  uncle  and  cousin,  and 
you  will  be  lonely.” 

“ Oh,  I will  not  be  lonely,”  pleaded  Kate.  “ You 
know  I am  not  the  kind  of' girl  to  get  lonely,  for  I 
never  care  for  society.” 


92 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


“Yes,  but  you  should  not  cherish  such  feelings. 
It  will  make  you  selfish  and  egotistical,  and  you  will 
be  an  old  woman  before  you  are  twenty.  Enjoy  life 
while  you  can,  for  the  stern  realities  of  life  will  frown 
upon  you  soon  enough,  and  you  will  surely  be  called 
upon  to  do  your  share  of  the  duties  and  responsibili- 
ties of  life.” 

“ I am  called  upon  now,  uncle,”  said  she,  gravely. 
Uncle  Baskersville  is  in  bad  health,  and,  besides,  he 
is  too  poor  to  hire  a housekeeper,  and  I think  it  my 
duty  to  stay  with  him  ; for  I will  not  only  be  a help 
to  him,  but  a comfort  to  him  in  his  affliction.” 

“You  are  a good  and  noble  girl,”  said  her  uncle, 
sighing,  for  he  thought  of  his  own  daughter,  whom 
he  had  reared  and  indulged,  and  who  seldom  felt  even 
the  restraint  of  a remonstrance  at  his  hands.  She 
never  knew  a thought  nor  had  a wish  beyond  the 
gratification  of  her  own  appetite  or  desire,  or  her  own 
internal  satisfaction.  And  she  was  so  soon  to  leave 
the  parental  roof,  where  she  had  never  known  a sor- 
row, nor  aught  of  grief  that  wealth  could  shield  her 
from,  to  go  forth  upon  the  stage  of  action  with  no 
more  grip  than  a bird,  to  either  make  a happy  and 
honored  wife,  or  a miserable,  discontented  woman. 

“ God  only  knows  ! ” said  he,  as  he  sat  there  alone 
and  saw  it  all — the  one  great  mistake  he  had  made  in 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


93 


rearing  his  only  child.  As  these  thoughts  rushed  to 
his  mind  he  bowed  his  head  and  murmured:  “ Had 
I my  life  to  go  over  I would  raise  her  differently." 

But  “if,  if,  if!"  Ah,  ’tis  ever  thus!  While  life 
and  effort  go  toiling  up  the  steeps  of  time,  looking 
back  we  hear  the  footsteps  of  regret  tinkling  along 
over  the  little  subjunctives,  making  minor  music  as 
they  go.  Oh,  the  bitterness  of  late  contrition  ! the 
agony  of  remorse  that  comes  not  till  the  ears  that  so 
long  needed  counsel  and  reproof  are  wrapped  in  deep 
oblivion. 

A few  days  after  the  wedding  the  bride  and  groom 
took  their  departure,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Thorn- 
whicker,  who  was  on  the  eve  of  matrimony  with  Mr. 
Raymont.  He  had  asked  her  to  marry  him,  and  she 
had  yielded  unhesitatingly  on  the  condition  that  he 
would  take  her  to  Europe  on  a tour.  She  was  very 
much  elated  over  her  journey,  and  smiled  as  she 
built  her  castle  high  in  the  air,  and  saw  the  future 
bending  over  her  like  a bow  of  promise  sparkling  and 
gleaming  in  the  golden  sunshine. 

After  several  days’ travel,  to  her  great  pleasure  they 
reached  their  destination,  for  she  had  sat  pinched  up 
in  one  corner  until  she  almost  imagined  herself  to  be 
Lot’s  wife  ! Mr.  Raymont  occupied  two-thirds  of  the 


94 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


seat,  and  his  feet  monopolized  the  one  in  front,  with 
his  head  thrown  back  and  snoring  like  a wounded  lion. 

“ Wiggle  Creek!  ” sang  the  brakeman,  as  the  train 
dashed  up  to  the  station. 

“What  is  the  name  of  this  place?”  asked  M.^. 
Thornwhicker,  who  failed  to  catch  the  name. 

“ Wiggle  Creek  ! ” said  a gentleman  in  front  of  her. 

‘ ‘ Oh  my,  what  a name ! ” she  exclaimed ; ‘ ‘ and  the 
place  is  about  as  horrible  as  its  name.” 

“ Yes,  this  is  Wiggle  Creek,  ” said  old  Mr.  Raymont, 
as  he  gathered  up  the  bandboxes  and  traveling  bags  ; 
“ and  we  will  have  to  wiggle  out  of  here ! ” 

“Oh,  horrors!”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Thornwhicker, 
shuddering  at  the  uncouth  expression  that  came  so 
unexpectedly,  and  at  the  idea  of  getting  off  at  such 
an  old,  dilapidated-looking  place  with  that  horrible 
name. 

They  found  a carriage  awaiting  them,  with  a beau- 
tiful span  of  horses  most  handsomely  equipped.  The 
four  entered‘the  coach,  comfortably  seated  themselves  ; 
the  driver  cracked  his  whip,  and  the  horses  dashed 
off  and  were  soon  lost  to  the  view  of  the  inhabitants 
of  Wiggle  Creek. 

Julius  was  very  reserved,  but  seemed  perfectly 
happy,  as  Clara’s  beautiful  head  rested  on  his  bosom 
in  broken  slumbers,  now  and  then  asking  how  far  it 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


95 


was  from  home,  while  Mrs.  Thorn  whicker  occupied 
the  same  position  she  did  on  the  train,  and  was  afraid 
to  move  her  feet  for  fear  they  would  come  in  contact 
with  Mr.  Raymonds,  who  was  patting  and  singing 
‘ ‘ The  Little  Log  Cabin  in  the  Lane”  nearly  all  the  way. 
For  a few  minutes  he  ceased  patting  and  singing, 
when  the  blessed  dews  of  Morpheus  sealed  the  eye- 
lids of  Mrs.  Thornwhicker,  who  dreamed  of  entering 
a magnificent  mansion,  where  a great  many  servants 

> 

all  dressed  in  oriental  costumes,  bowed  to  the  ground 
as  she  approached.  At  this  point  Mr.  Raymont 
hallooed  at  the  top  of  his  voice  right  in  her  ear  : 

“ Wake  up,  folks,  we  are  home  at  last ! Come  out 
here,  you  Bridget,  and  help  get  the  women  folks  into 
the  house,  and  then  fix  us  a buncomb  supper,  for  I 
am  as  hungry  as  a wolf!  ” 

Mrs.  Thornwhicker  opened  her  eyes,  and  instead 
of  the  beautiful  mansion  that  floated  before  her  sleep- 
ing vision,  and  the  servants  dressed  in  oriental  cos- 
tumes bowing  as  she  entered,  she  beheld  an  old, 
dilapidated-looking  house  and  a negro  girl  dressed  in 
a dirty,  greasy,  linsey  dress,  with  a tallow  candle, 
which  was  sticking  in  the  mouth  of  an  ale-bottle  as  a 
substitute  for  a candlestick. 

“What  are  you  stopping  here  for  ?”  said  Mrs. 
Thornwhicker.  * 1 Why  not  keep  on  home  ? ” 


96 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


“ Home !”  shouted  Mr.  Raymont,  as  loud  as  his 
vocal  chords  would  permit  him;  “what  is  this  but 
home  ? Plenty  good  enough  home  for  me.  Good 
fire,  good  bed,  plenty  to  eat,  good  back-bones  and 
sausages — what  more?” 

“But  you  were,  you  said  you  were,  rich!  You 
have  deceived  us  and  brought  us  to  this  miserable- 
looking  place  where  the  owls  wouldn’t  roost ! Poor 
Clara,  what  will  become  of  you,  and  what  will  the 
world  say?”  said  Mrs.  Thorn  whicker,  as  she  turned 
her  woe-begone  eyes  upon  Clara,  who  was  sitting  like 
a statue,  with  clasped  hands,  and  looking  at  Julius, 
who  was  insisting  upon  her  getting  out.  She 
thought,  I suppose,  that  no  woe  like  hers  had  ever 
come  upon  the  world  since  the  deluge. 

“I  have  not  deceived  you,”  said  Mr.  Raymont. 
“You  have  deceived  yourselves!  I did  not  tell  you 
I was  rich,  nor  any  one  else.  It  is  a mistake.  It  is 
not  I that  am  rich  ; it  is  my  brother  Baskersville ! ” 
“But  why  did  he  dress  so  indifferently  ? ” 

“Just  his  notion,”  said  Mr.  Raymont.  “ You  see 
it  is  not  the  prettiest  bird  that  sings  the  best,  nor  the 
longest  gun  that  makes  the  loudest  report ! ” 

“ But  your  diamonds  and  your  clothes?  ” 

“All  borrowed!”  said  he. 

“And  this  carriage?” 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


97 


“ Borrowed.  All  belong  to  my  brother  Baskers- 
ville,  who  listened  to  my  whims,”  said  Mr.  Raymont, 
“and  was  good  enough  to  loan  them  to  me.” 

“ It  was  a made-up  plot,”  said  Mrs.  Thornwhicker, 
“just  to  get  your  son  married  off,  and  it  is  a perfect 
shame!”  And  she. threw  herself  into  the  first  chair 
that  came  to  hand. 

“Clara  will  not  suffer,”  said  he,  patting  her  on  the 
cheek.  “Julius  is  strong  and  hearty,  and  knows  how 
to  work.” 

“But  what  does  Clara  know  about  work?  She 
never  made  herself  a dress  in  her  life,  nor  cooked  a 
cake  of  bread  ; and  as  for  your  back-bones  and  sau- 
sage,  you  can  eat  them  yourself!  Clara  was  not  raised 
on  hog  meat;  I don’t  suppose  she  ever  ate  a pound 
of  it  in  her  life.  She  would  die  with  the  dyspepsia 
before  a week,”  said  Mrs.  Thornwhicker,  as  the  girl 
came  in  with  a large  dish  of  cold  turnips  and  back- 
bones. 

“Oh,  it  will  only  make  a woman  out  of  her,”  said 
Mr.  Raymont,  seating  himself  at  the  table  and  wink- 
ing at  Clara,  who  seemed  to  be  in  a stupor.  Julius  was 
trying  to  comfort  her,  but  received  nothing  in  return 
except  a cold,  reproachful  look  and  silent  contempt. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Thornwhicker  slept  till  a 
late  sun  thrust  bright  daggers  through  her  hair, 
7 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


98 

through  the  uncurtained  windows,  and  heated  her 
eyelids,  and  she  arose  with  a determination  to  take 
her  departure  that  day,  but  was  prevented  by  the 
tears  and  entreaties  of  Clara,  who  vowed  she  would 
go,  too,  if  the  former  went,  which  Mrs.  Thornwhicker 
thought  would  be  a disgrace  to  the  Raymont  family. 

“Just  stay  one  month,”  remonstrated  Julius,  “and 
Clara  can  go  with  you  and  remain  until  I can  arrange 
things  more  comfortable.  Uncle  Baskersville  has 
presented  me  with  a very  nice  little  house  in  Blooms* 
dale,  which  I expect  to  furnish  handsomely,  and  will 
move  there,  as  soon  as  I can  make  the  arrangement, 
and  have  every  thing  in  order  when  she  returns.” 

At  these  words  Clara’s  countenance  changed,  and 
she  seemed  to  soften  toward  him. 

“Yes,  Aunty,”  said  she,  playing  with  the  buttons 
on  his  coat,  “I  know  Julius  will  do  all  in  his  power 
to  make  me  comfortable ; and,  besides,  he  is  not  so 
much  to  blame  after  all.  I deceived  myself.  He  told 
me  he  was  poor,  but  I thought  he  was  only  jesting, 
as  people  will  sometimes  do  when  they  are  rich  and 
think  every  body  knows  it.  You  know  it  was  sup- 
posed that  Uncle  Raymont  was  vastly  rich,  and, 
besides,  he  came  in  so  much  splendor  and  grandeur, 
who  could  have  thought  otherwise?  But  this  will 
only  learn  us  a lesson,”  she  continued,  wiping  away 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


99 


a tear  which,  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts,  stole  into  the 
comer  of  her  eye,  as  she  thought  of  the  ill-treatment 
that  her  Uncle  Baskersville  had  received  from  herself 
and  Mrs.  Thornwhicker,  and  how  kind  and  self- 
sacrificing  Kate  had  been  to  him,  and  through  no 
other  motive  but  the  purest  affection,  which  would 
surely  return  in  blessing  upon  her  head. 

“Yes,  Clara, ” said  Julius  tenderly,  “I  know  you 
have  had  a hard  experience,  and  I am  sorry  it  has 
turned  out  in  this  way.  I thought  you  knew  my 
circumstances,  and  that  is  why  I valued  your  love  so 
highly.  I thought  you  married  me  through  a pure 
motive — I mean,  darling,  for  myself  alone,  and  not 
for  a heap  of  shining  dust,  which  does  not  constitute 
happiness,  but  in  our  knowledge  has  made  shipwreck 
of  love.  Here  let  me  say  to  you,  Clara,”  he  con- 
tinued, bending  low  and  stroking  her  hair,  which 
rebelled  against  his  hand  as  he  pushed  it  over  the 
dark  waves,  “ if  I am  lacking  in  money,  I am  not  in 
true  manhood.  My  integrity  shall  be  sufficient  to 
carry  me  through.” 

“ But  what  is  integrity  in  these  days  ? ” interrupted 
Clara.  “ Why,  you  might  be  as  honest  as  the  sun, 
and,  if  you  hadn’t  money  and  position,  what  would  it 
amount  to  ? ” 

“Truly,”  put  in  Mrs.  Thornwhicker,  with  a shake 


IOO 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


of  her  head,  '‘what  would  it  amount  to?"  But 
Julius  promptly  answered: 

“Integrityis  everything.  How  are  we  to  attain 
position  v/ithout  integrity?  I want  enough  at  least 
to  recommend  me.  I expect  to  have  wealth  and 
position  one  of  these  days,"  he  continued ; “ but  it 
will  depend  entirely  on  you,  Clara.  Every  thing 
lies  in  your  hands.  Hold  the  ladder  and  I will  climb, 
though  it  may  not  be  made  of  starry  flowers  that 
sparkle  with  an  Eden-like  beauty.  I would  not  wish 
it;  they  are  too  frail.  But  let  it  be  made  of  true 
love,  faith,  hope,  and  patience.  Yes,  give  me  your 
love,  Clara — it  is  all  I ask  of  you  ; and  one  of  these 
days  you  will  not  regret  being  the  wife  of  Julius 
Raymont ! ” 


CHAPTER  IX. 


CATE  WINCHESTER’S  SURPRISE THE  ANGEL  OF  DEATH 

AT  THE  MARRIAGE  ALTAR. 


My  readers  will  no  doubt  be  pleased  to  accompany 
Kate  Winchester  to  her  uncle  Baskersville's,  in 
Bloomsdale,  Mo.,  a beautiful  little  city,  with  its 
charming  mountain  and  river  views,  so  desirable  in 
the  location  of  homes.  The  atmosphere  in  that  noble 
little  city  was  so  invigorating,  and  the  brotherly  love 
which  seemed  there  to  predominate  made  the  course 
of  life,  if  I may  use  the  expression,  quite  delightful 
to  all.  No  one  ever  said  of  Bloomsdale,  “It  needs  a 
few  first-class  funerals  before  it  will  ever  amount  to 
any  thing,”  for  that  peculiar  class  of  rich,  pig-headed 
people,  blind  to  the  general  good  and  interested  only 
in  self,  self,  self!  had  never  happened  there  to  take 
up  their  abode,  and  never  disturbed  the  inhabitants 
with  their  greedy  grunts  and  ill  manners.  Rich  peo- 
ple there  were,  but  were  too  much  alive  to  need 
funerals.  Their  money  circulated  too  freely,  their 


102 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


influence  was  too  beneficial,  and  their  lives  were  too> 
unselfish  to  be  easily  spared. 

Among  the  first  settlers  of  Bloomsdale  was  Mr. 
Baskersville,  who  was  a thorough  business  man  and  a 
person  of  large  heart.  It  is  necessary,  now-a-days,  to 
mention  the  latter  when  it  exists  in  the  same  connec- 
tion. Please  do  not  misunderstand  me.  I do  not 
mean  to  use  the  term  in  a restricted  sense,  and  merely 
convey  to  you  the  idea  that  in  giving  he  was  generous. 

I mean  that  he  was  possessed  of  those  little  traits  of 
character  which  many  own  in  common,  but  which  wc 
fail  to  especially  remark,  save  when  fully  developed 
in  hearts  over  large.  He  had  heart  for  his  business 
and  heart  for  his  friends. 

Up  the  steep  terrace  of  Bloomsdale,  across  Wash- 
ington avenue  to  Grand  street,  up  Southern  avenue, 
and  still  further  up,  up,  up  to  Cloud’s  Rest,  was 
“Sunny  Height, "the  residence  of  Mr.  Baskersville. 
Not  another  location  in  Bloomsdale  was  so  desirable 
as  this.  It  commanded  a view  of  the  entire  country 
for  miles  around.  On  the  east,  the  ascent  to  Sunny 
Height  was  very  rocky  and  precipitous,  overhanging 
the  beautiful  Mississippi  river,  and  away  out  upon 
this  rocky  bluff  was  resting  the  elegant  mansion  of 
the  Baskersvilles,  looking  like  a veritable  castle  by 
the  sea,  with  its  many  turrets  and  towers.  No  one 


104 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


enjoyed  the  charming  prospect  from  this  point  more 
than  Kate,  as  steamboats  glided  by  with  majestic 
motion,  their  salutes  echoing  for  miles  around. 

“ What  are  you  gazing  at  so  thoughtfully,  Cousin 
Kate? ’’said  Harry  Baskersville,  who  had  been  watch- 
ing her  for  the  last  half  hour  from  the  other  side  of 
the  boat,  as  she  sat  near  the  stern  looking  at  the 
waves  and  gracefully-curled  foam  that  marked  the 
steamer’s  path,  and  dreaming  of  impossible  things, 
and  pondering  on  perplexing  questions,  revolving  this 
and  that  theory  in  her  mind,  while  her  eyes  were 
taking  in  the  beauty  of  all  around. 

“ I was  only  watching  the  waves  of  the  steamboat,  ” 
said  she,  “and  thinking  of  that  beautiful  simile  by 
Coleridge,  in  The  Friend:  ‘Human  experience,  like 
the  ^tern-light  of  a ship  at  sea,  illumines  only  the 
path  we  have  passed  over.’  ” 

“Let  us  go  up  into  the  pilot-house,”  said  he, 
“ where  we  can  have  a better  view  of  the  scenery.” 
“Oh,  what  a sunset! ’’said  Kate,  as  she  clapped 
her  hands  in  admiration.  “I  never  saw'  any  thing 
from  Fiesole  comparable  to  that ! ” 

From  the  zenith  eastward  the  sky  was  violet-hued ; 
in  the  west,  light  cloud-flakes  had  gathered  in  fleecy 
masses  and  semi-spiral  whiffs.  Some  burned  like 
dashes  of  vermilion  in  lakes  of  beryl  or  chrysoprase ; 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


105 


others,  in  purple  pomp,  fringed  their  edges  with 
gold ; snowy  mountain  ranges  were  tipped  with  fire, 
pillared  cathedrhls  with  domes  of  silver,  and  be- 
neath all  glared  a liquid  sea  of  rippling  flame — a 
sky  which  only  Ruskin  could  describe  or  Turner 
paint. 

It  is  beyond  the  power  of  my  pen  to  describe  Kate 
Winchester’s  surprise  when  Harry  Baskersville  sprang 
out  of  the  carriage,  as  it  rolled  up  before  Mr.  Baskers- 
ville’s  lordly  mansion,  and  said  : 

“Welcome,  Cousin  Kate,  to  Sunny  Height!” 
“What  place  is  this? ’’asked  Kate,  not  exactly 
understanding  what  Harry  said. 

“This  is  our  home,”  said  Mr.  Baskersville;  “and 
will  you  not  get  out,  or  had  you  rather  keep  riding?  ” 
“What!  your  home?” 

“Yes,  my  home,  and  your  home  too,  as  long  as 
you  want  it ! ” said  he,  smiling  at  Kate’s  bewilderment. 

“Why,  Uncle,”  said  Kate,  who  looked  as  though 
she  did  not  know  whether  to  get  out  or  not,  “you 
said  you  were  poor,  and  here  you  are  living  in  a 
palace  among  the  clouds ! ” 

“I  am  poor,”  said  Mr.  Baskersville.  “Look  at 
my  wasted  form.  I once  weighed  one  hundred  and 
eighty  pounds,  but  now  I only  weigh  one  hundred 
and  twenty-five ! ” 


io6 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


“Oh,  Uncle,  ” said  Kate,  slapping  him  on  the 
shoulder,  “don’t  tantalize  me!  You  know  what  I 
mean.  There  is  a mystery  about  this,  and  I want 
to  unravel  it.  It  all  seems  like  a dream  to  me,”  said 
she,  as  she  walked  into  the  elegant  parlor,  where  a 
blazing  fire  was  burning  in  the  grate;  “and  I believe 
I am  dreaming,  and  will  wake  up  presently  and  find 
myself  perched  beneath  the  shadows  of  Mrs.  Thom- 
whicker’s  jurisdiction.” 

“Ah,  my  child, ” said  he,  “the  mystery  is  very 
easily  unraveled.  There  has  only  been  a little  mis- 
take. You  know  that  I have  not  seen  your  Uncle 
Robert  for  twenty  years,  nor  had  any  communication 
with  him.  I don’t  know  why  it  was.  Neglect,  I 
suppose,  or  being  pressed  with  business.  Well,  I 
took  up  an  idea  one  day  that  I would  visit  him,  and 
sat  right  down  and  wrote  him  a long  letter,  and  told 
him  of  my  expected  visit,  and  also  spoke  freely  about 
my  pecuniary  affairs  very  favorably ; but,  being  called 
away  very  suddenly,  I forgot  to  sign  my  name  to  the 
letter.  My  brother  Richard  came  in  during  my 
absence  and  read  the  letter,  and,  seeing  my  negli- 
gence, through  mischief,  signed  his  own  name.  He 
then  wrote  another  letter,  saying  he  would  visit  them 
also,  and  spoke  of  his  misfortune  in  losing  his  prop- 
erty, and  signed  my  name  instead  of  his.  He  mailed 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


07 


the  letters  before  I knew  any  thing  about  it,  so  I 
thought  I would  humor  the  joke  and  let  him  have  his 
way.  You  know  he  is  all  life,  and  seems  as  happy 
in  adversity  as  he  did  when  he  was  in  prosperity.” 
‘‘But,  Uncle,  ” said  Kate,  looking  more  surprised 
than  ever,  “do  you  mean  that  Uncle  Richard  Ray- 
mont  is  the  poor  man  at  last?” 

“ Yes,”  said  he,  “ your  Uncle  Richard  is  very  poor, 
though  I have  helped  him  a great  deal;  besides,  1 
have  made  your  Cousin  Julius  a present  of  a very 
nice  little  house  and  lot  here  in  Bloomsdale.” 

“Oh,  I am  so  glad,”  said  Kate,  “for  Clara’s  sake, 
for  she  will  be  sadly  disappointed.  Her  heart  was 
set  on  Uncle  Raymont’s  wealth.” 

“Ah, "said  Mr.  Baskersville,  “one  never  gets  too 
old  to  learn,  and  this  trip  has  learned  me  a lesson 
in  human  nature.  The  Buckle  theory  of  immutable 
cycles  is  correct.  This  throbbing,  surging  world  of 
human  emotion  and  passion  is  but  an  arithmetical 
problem,  to  be  solved  through  the  erudition  and 
astuteness  of  Quetelet  or  Hassel  by  an  infallible,  sta- 
tistical rule  of  three.  Yes,  Katie,”  he  continued, 
“I  have  learned  that  there  is  one  in  this  wide  world 
whose  affections  can  not  be  bought  with  money,  and 
that  one  has  left  a lasting  impression  upon  my  heart.” 
As  he  spoke  his  eyes  dwelt  upon  her  face,  as  she 


io8 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


looked  gladly  at  him,  and  over  her  sunny  hair  his 
hands  passed  tenderly,  as  they  had  done  before. 
“ You  do  not  know,”  said  he,  smiling,  “what  a com- 
fort you  have  been  to  your  old  uncle.  You  smiled 
upon  me  and  comforted  me  when  you  thought  I was 
buried  in  adversity,  which  will  return  in  blessings  on 
your  head.  Clara,  however,  has  furnished  food  for 
bitter  reflection.  Now,  I want  you  to  make  this  your 
home,  and  you  shall  not  want  for  any  thing  that 
money  can  furnish.  I have  plenty,  and  more  than 
plenty,  and  but  a few  years  to  live  at  best ; but, 
thank  God,  I have  a boy  to  bear  my  name,  and  not 
let  it  die  with  me,  and  one,  too,  that  I am  not  afraid 
to  trust  it  with  ; and  when  I am  in  my  grave  I will 
rest  assured  that  it  will  not  be  degraded.” 

Kate  had  been  with  her  uncle  but  a short  time 
when  he  was  taken  very  ill,  and  she,  like  a ministering 
angel,  was  ever  at  his  bedside  administering  to  his 
wants.  How  anxiously  did  he  watch  her  every  move- 
ment, as  he  saw  the  tell-tale  blood  rush  to  her  cheeks 
whenever  Harry  would  enter  the  room ! and  how 
tenderly  Harry  would  gaze  into  her  sweet  face,  as  she 
administered  the  medicine  or  carefully  adjusted  the 
pillows!  How  he  longed  to  throw  his  arms  around 
them  both  and  tell  them  his  heart’s  desire,  though  he 
did  not.  But  one  night,  as  the  two  kept  their  vigils 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


IO9 


beside  his  restless  couch,  watching  the  rising  and 
falling  of  his  heaving  bosom,  and  counting  the  pulse 
that  sank  deeper  and  deeper,  he  looked  up  at  them 
with  a wild,  anxious  gaze,  then  closed  his  eyes,  and 
Harry  said  tenderly  : 

“Do  you  wish  any  thing,  father  ?" 

He  nodded  his  head,  and  tears  came  into  his  eyes 
and  trembled  like  pearls  upon  the  closed  lids.  Kate 
took  her  handkerchief  and  wiped  the  pearly  drops 
away,  and  tears  fell  from  her  own  eyes  and  mingled 
with  those  of  her  uncle.  Then  she  said,  in  a sup- 
pressed voice: 

“Tell  us,  dear  uncle,  what  you  wish,  and  you 
shall  have  it." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  she  laid  her  hand  in  his 
cold,  white  palm,  which  he  placed  in  Harry’s,  who 
grasped  it  firmly  as  he  looked  with  tender  emotion 
upon  the  beloved  form  of  his  father,  wan  and  glisten- 
ing with  the  dew  of  exhaustion,  who  said: 

“I  leave  the  balance  to  God  and  you.  You  know 
my  desire,  and  you  have  a father’s  blessing  upon 
you ! ” 

As  he  ceased  to  speak,  silent,  blistering  tears 
trickled  down  his  furrowed  face.  Harry  knew  his 
father’s  desire,  and  it  was  his  desire,  too,  for  he  had 
loved  Kate  from  the  first  moment  they  met  each 


I IO 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


other,  and  she  returned  it  with  the  purest  affection 
that  ever  burned  upon  the  altar  of  love.  They  were 
quietly  married  by  the  bedside  of  their  dying  father, 
who  shortly  after  passed  into  the  sanctum  sanctorum 
of  happiness. 

Harry  has  often  assured  Kate  that  he  did  not  regret 
his  visit,  nor  wearing  the  coat  with  the  hole  in  the 
elbow.  She  made  him  a tender  and  loving  wife, 
changed  into  the  same  image,  from  glory  to  glory ! 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE  FLAG  OF  SORROW. 


There  had  been  a great  change  in  Mr.  Sherwood’s 
dwelling  since  Egbert’s  departure.  During  the  sum- 
mer, yellow  fever  had  hung  threateningly  over  the 
city.  Soon  it  was  announced  that  the  disease  had 
made  its  appearance  in  a very  malignant  form,  un- 
robing many  of  the  citizens  of  their  mortal  vestments 
to  join  the  land  of  spirits.  One  who  passed  the  vail 
that  floats  between  our  mortal  vision  and  the  spirit 
land,  was  Mrs.  Sherwood.  Her  death  was  a sore  grief 
to  Rose,  but  she  bore  it  with  womanly  fortitude. 
The  mountains  themselves  showed  no  braver  front  to 
the  storm  than  she  did  to  adversity.  The  flag  of 
sorrow  and  want  was  waving  triumphantly  among  the 
poor,  and  Rose,  like  a ministering  angel,  laid  herself 
upon  the  altar  of  sacrifice.  Day  and  night,  she  kept 
faithful  vigil  by  the  bedside  of  the  sufferers.  Though 
young,  her  womanly  heart,  “ like  the  jeweled  lever  of 


1 12 


ROSE  SHERWOOD, 


,1  watch,”  guided  her  hand  unerringly.  Since  her 
mother’s  death  she  had  become  a recluse,  availing 
herself  of  her  mourning  dress  to  decline  all  social 
enjoyments,  and  during  these  months  a beautiful 
pathway  opened  before  her  feet.  She  became  a 
church  member,  and  clasped  her  hands  firmly  with 
resignation  over  her  life  mission.  A thousand  oppor- 
tunities of  doing  good  and  benefiting  humanity  are 
ever  open  to  those  whose  hearts  incline  them  to  a life 
of  piety  and  deeds  of  charity  and  well  doing.  To 
these,  Rose  Sherwood  was  devoting  her  life.  She 
did  not  quail  before  the  dark  waves  of  adversity,  and 
during  the  epidemic  she  did  not  cowardly  fly  from  the 
conflict,  but  bared  her  bosom  to  the  storm  until  toil 
and  grief  bowed  her  to  the  earth,  on  whose  cold 
breast  she  longed  to  lay  her  weary  limbs  to  rest, 
where  she  would  no  longer  behold  human  woe,  wick- 
edness, folly,  and  misery.  She  felt  willing  to  with- 
draw from  the  scenes  of  strife,  jarring  discords,  the 
abodes  of  suffering  and  unrighteousness,  when  it 
should  be  heaven’s  will  to  close  her  eyes  calmly  and 
peacefully  to  all  of  earth. 

Rose  was  the  picture  of  a faded  beauty,  though 
beautiful  still.  Her  look  was  unhappy,  dejected,  for- 
lorn S Ah,  a rare  sweet  flower  was  that,  plucked  by 
a cruel  hand  and  left  to  pine,  wither,  and  decay! 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


I 13 

Though  deeply  tinged  and  darkly  shaded  with  the 
hue  of  melancholy,  yet  her  face  was  illumined  with 
bright  intelligence.  In  those  speaking  eyes  and  that 
pallid  countenance  was  to  be  read  the  history  of  a 
crushed  and  broken  heart.  Rose  still  remained  in 
her  maidenhood,  though  more  than  one  gay  cavalier 
had  gallantly  doffed  his  hat  and  laid  his  fortune  at  the 
feet  of  the  blue-eyed  maiden,  but  still  she  shook  her 
head  at  each  diurnal  turn  of  fortune’s  wheel. 


8 


CHAPTER  XI. 


A FUNERAL  PROCESSION A NIGHT  OF  SORROW  FOR 

ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


Three  years  had  passed  in  quick  succession,  strew- 
ing the  paths  of  some  with  flowers  beneath  sunny 
skies,  and  leading  others  amid  the  thorns  and  bram- 
bles of  life’s  highway  to  endure  the  storms  of  afflic- 
tion from  cloudy  skies.  Clouds  may  veil  the  bright- 
ness of  the  sun,  yet  how  pure  is  the  undimmed  efful- 
gence of  that  glorious  orb,  and  how  powerful  his  rays 
when  the  “mists  have  cleared  away.” 

It  was  a dreary  afternoon  in  November.  All  day 
the  rain  had  fallen,  freezing  upon  the  pavements  and 
chilling  the  hearts  of  the  poor  and  homeless.  Through 
the  arched  gateway  of  Pinewood  Cemetery  slowly 
marched  a funeral  procession,  but  the  only  mourner 
was  a young  lady — young  in  years,  but  grown  old 
with  suffering.  As  she  stood  beside  the  open  grave, 
which  echoed  the  wails  and  dying  groans  of  that 
dear  and  last  parental  form,  and  heard  the  dull,  heavy 


“ Oh  father,  dear  father,  why  hast  thou  left  me  alone  in  this 
cold,  unfriendly  world,  with  none  to  whisper  in  my  ear  gentle 
words  of  love  and  friendship,  nor  speak  a word  of  comfort  to  my 
unhappy  heart.” 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


1 1 5 

sound  of  the  frozen  earth  fall  upon  the  coffin-lid,  that 
echoed  through  the  chambers  of  her  desolate  heart, 
the  storm-cloud  seemed  to  wrap  the  face  of  the  earth 
like  a widow’s  veil,  and  nature  wept  with  the  hushed 
passion  of  the  youthful  mourner  as  she  threw  herself 
upon  the  cold,  wet  mound,  heeding  not  the  pelting 
rain  without,  for  a torrent  of  sorrow  was  raging  within. 

“O  father,  dear  father!”  she  murmured,  “why 
hast  thou  left  me  alone  in  this  cold,  unfriendly  world, 
with  none  to  shield  me  from  the  blasts  of  affliction — 
none  to  whisper  in  my  ear  gentle  words  of  love  and 
friendship,  nor  speak  a word  of  comfort  to  my  un- 
happy heart ! ” 

That  night  Rose  returned  to  the  gloom  of  her  home, 
knowing  that  her  future  life  must  share  the  fate  of  an 
orphan,  for  she  was  an  orphan,  indeed.  Before  the 
ivy  had  time  to  embrace  the  tombstones  of  her 
mother’s  grave,  the  dear  father  was  laid  beside  her. 

Rose  was  alone  in  her  chamber,  and,  judging  from 
her  appearance,  had  retired  to  her  couch  and  risen 
therefrom  in  order,  by  reading,  to  banish  the  terrible 
forebodings  that  assailed  her  pillow.  She  sat  down 
before  the  grate  and  threw  her  arms  over  a chair,  as 
she  was  wont  to  do  in  childhood.  Long  she  sat  by 
the  dying  embers — dying  like  her  own  bright  hopes 
had  died.  Now  and  then  her  thoughts  would  wander 


i6 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


to  one  upon  whom  she  had  lavished  all  the  exuberant 
wealth  of  her  heart,  not  to  treasure,  but  to  trample 
it  beneath  his  proud,  exulting  feet.  Oppressed  with 
gloomy  reflections,  with  doubts  and  superstitious  fears 
that  hung  like  lead  upon  her  heart,  she  clasped  her 
feverish  head  as  if  to  check  the  burning  current  of 
her  thoughts,  and  bowed  her  head  in  silence.  After 
a short  space,  she  lifted  her  eyes,  beaming  with  spir- 
itual light,  imploringly  to  heaven,  and  with  a subdued 
utterance  and  in  touching  tones,  she  thus  resumed : 
‘ ‘ Oh,  for  a heart  resigned  to  my  allotment ! Blessed 
Jesus,  aid  and  support  me,  and  may  all  worldly 
thoughts,  attachments  and  desires  be  taken  away  1 
Alas,  alas,  that  recollection  should  e’er  call  to  mind 
days  that  have  fled — golden  hours  I fain  would  forget. 
Enchanting  scenes  of  other  years,  yet  fresh  and  green 
on  memory’s  page,  how  they  make  me  long  to  fly 
away,  had  I the  wings  of  an  eagle,  that  my  weary 
spirit  might  find  rest ! Once  I was  happy — silver- 
tongued  hope  whispered  cheeringly  to  my  glad  heart, 
a bright  bow  of  promise  spanned  the  future,  and  I 
walked  the  primrose  path  of  pleasure;  but,  ah,  the 
opening  flowers  I seized  even  now  have  shed  their 
bloom,  the  rainbow’s  lovely  form  has  suddenly  van- 
ished. Farewell,  sweet  dreams!” 

She  was  aroused  from  her  reverie  by  a peal  from 


l 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


II  7 


the  door-bell.  She  arose  and  hurriedly  adjusted  her 
dress,  brushed  away  the  tears  that  suffused  her 
cheeks,  and  opened  the  door. 

“A  letter  for  you,  Miss  Rose,”  said  the  post- 
master, pleasantly.  ‘ 4 I thought  I would  bring  it  up 
to  you,  as  I had  to  pass  this  way,  and  hope  it  will 
help  to  cheer  your  drooping  spirits.” 

“Thank  you,” said  Rose,  as  she  closed  the  door 
and  returned  to  her  room,  where,  with  eager  hands 
and  anxious  heart,  she  broke  the  seal.  The  penman- 
ship was  no  other  than  Egbert  Chesterfield’s,  and 
read  as  follows : 

“Dear  Rose:  Through  all  the  chances,  changes 

and  vicissitudes  of  my  wayward  life,  I never  had  a 
task  so  painful  to  my  mangled  feelings  as  the  present 
one  of  addressing  you  from  this  doleful  abode  of  dis- 
grace and  misery,  where  I stand  a monument  of 
destruction,  driven  by  the  adverse  winds  of  fate  to 
the  confines  of  black  despair  and  into  the  vortex  of 
galling  misery.  I am,  with  heart-rending  sorrow  and 
anguish  of  soul,  ranged  and  mingled  with  outcasts, 
with  the  brand  of  Cain  stamped  upon  my  once  un- 
spotted name,  but  not  upon  my  soul.  In  twenty 
days  I am  to  suffer  an  ignominious  death  upon  the 
scaffold — to  be  hanged  by  the  neck  like  a dog  for  that 
1 am  innocent  of — innocent  as  an  angel  in  heaven. 


1 18 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


1 ‘ Though  I am  resigned  to  the  web  of  destiny  which 
the  loom  of  time  has  woven  for  me,  there  is  but  one 
thing  that  binds  me  to  earth,  and  that  is,  to  look  upon 
you  once  more,  and  fall  upon  my  knees  and  beg 
your  forgiveness  ! Will  you  forgive  me  ? Oh,  Rose, 
grant  me  this  last  and  dying  request,  and  let  me  go 
in  peace.  Say  I am  forgiven  before  I am  unrobed  of 
my  mortal  vestment.  The  little  token  you  gave  me 
is  shining  still — shining  as  bright  as  on  the  night  of 
my  departure,  when  I left  you  standing  by  the  lonely 
seaside.  Although  in  my  dark,  damp  cell,  where  I 
have  been  confined  for  ten  tedious  months,  with  no 
eye  to  pity  and  no  hand  to  shield  me,  I can  not  help 
from  feeling  happy-  when  I gaze  upon  the  little  star 
through  my  barred  windows,  shining  so  bright  in  the 
heavens,  and,  though  unworthy  as  I am,  it  tells  me 
there  is  one  in  this  wide  world  who  has  not  forsaken 
me.  Egbert  Chesterfield.” 

It  is  beyond  the  power  of  my  pen  to  describe  the 
affliction  of  this  sorrow-stricken  and  lonely  girl  as  the 
pleading  accents  wailed  up  and  down  her  lonely  heart, 
mournful  as  the  ceaseless  cry  of  “El  alma  perdiday'r 
in  moonless,  breezeless  Amazonian  solitudes.  She 
clasped  the  tear-stained  sheets  to  her  breast  and  cried  : 
“ Oh,  Egbert,  you  must  not  die — you  shall  not  die  L 
I will  forgive  y^ou,  and  I will  save  you,  too,  if  there 


“ Oh  Egbert,  you  must  not  die — you  shall  not  die  ! I will  for- 
give you  and  save  you,  too,  if  there  is  any  power  on  earth  to  re- 
move your  fetters.” 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


l9 


is  any  power  on  earth  to  remove  your  fetters.” 
Through  the  remainder  of  that  cloud-riven  night  she 
wrestled  silently — not,  like  the  Jewish  patriarch,  with 
angels,  but  with  despair  grim  as  death.  The  thunder 
pealed  and  the  wind  shrieked  through  the  leafless 
trees,  while  the  rain  poured  down  in  one  endless, 
blinding  sheet,  and  pattered  against  the  solitary  win- 
dows. At  last,  when  the  morning  broke,  the  sky 
flushed  rosily,  like  an  opal  smitten  with  light,  and 
holy  resignation,  the  blessed  boon  only  of  trials  like 
hers,  shed  its  heavenly  chrism  over  the  worn  and 
weary,  bruised  and  bleeding  spirit.  She  arose  with  a 
thousand  conflicting  emotions  in  her  heart,  a thou- 
sand ill-defined  fears,  but  she  turned  toward  the  future 
with  a fixed  purpose  which  no  earthly  power  could 
shake. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


A VISIT  TO  PRISON — THE  STAR  IS  SHINING  STILL. 


In  the  great  crisis  of  our  life,  when  brought  face  to 
face  with  annihilation,  we  are  suspended  gasping  over 
the  great  emptiness  of  death.  We  become  conscious 
that  the  self  which  we  thought  we  knew  so  well  has 
strange  and  unthought-of  capacities.  To  describe  a 
tempest  of  the  elements  is  not  easy,  but  to  describe 
a tempest  of  the  soul  is  impossible.  Amidst  the  fury 
of  such  a tempest  a thousand  memories,  each  bearing- 
in  its  breast  the  corpse  of  some  dead  deed  whose 
influence  haunts  us  yet,  are  driven  like  feathers  before 
the  blast,  as  unsubstantial  and  as  unregarded.  The 
mists  which  shroud  our  self-knowledge  become  trans- 
parent, and  we  are  smitten  with  sudden,  lightning-like 
comprehensions  of  our  own  misused  power  over  our 
fate.  This  much  we  feel  and  know,  but  who  can  coldly 
describe  the  hurricane  which  thus  overwhelms  us ! 
As  well  ask  the  drowned  mariner  to  tell  of  the  mar- 
vels of  mid-sea  when  the  great  deep  swallowed  him 
and  darkness  encompassed  him  round  about. 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


I 2 1 


As  Egbert  Chesterfield  watched  the  setting  sun 
through  the  barred  windows  of  the  prison  to  which 
he  had  been  consigned,  he  felt  that  he  was  done  with 
life.  The  rays  of  the  setting  sun  gilded  his  rippling 
hair,  and  lingered  like  a benediction  on  the  placid 
face  where  sorrow  had  left  its  softening  shadow,  and 
laid  its  chastening  finger  about  the  lips,  which  meekly 
murmured,  ‘‘Thy  will  be  done.” 

The  shadows  of  night  had  fallen,  and  the  lamps 
which  glittered  upon  the  great  thoroughfares  of  the 
city  threw  their  glimmer  into  the  iron-grated  windows 
and  shadowed  upon  the  wall  evidences  of  his  degra- 
dation. He  could  hear  the  light  footsteps  of  happier 
fellow-beings  hurriedly  pass,  and  the  floor  beneath 
him  trembled  as  the  heavy  coach  rolled  by,  bearing 
its  gay  inmates  to  some  scene  of  festive  enjoyment  or 
to  some  cheerful,  happy  home.  None  among  the 
throng  cared  for  him  nor  bestowed  a thought  upon 
him,  except  when  the  passer-by  pointed  a finger  at 
his  prison  and  told  of  his  crime  and  its  detection  ; 
but  none  cared  for  the  anguish  that  racked  his  bosom, 
nor  thought  of  giving  consolation  to  one  who  had 
fallen  from  his  integrity  and  forfeited  his  fair  name. 
Perhaps,  had  they  known  the  story  of  his  past  life, 
there  might  have  been  those  who  would  have  stepped 
forward  to  rescue,  and  not  suffered  the  iron  to  enter 


122 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


his  soul,  at  least  before  he  had  been  allowed  an  im- 
partial trial.  But,  oh, who  was  there  to  tell  his  story? 
He  had  no  evidence  in  his  favor.  The  gratings  and 
the  heavy  bars  that  shut  him  in  from  the  world  were 
to  his  spirit  like  the  torturing  rack.  Not  that  he 
cared  now  to  be  at  liberty.  It  was  not  the  thought 
of  death  nor  the  walls  of  his  prison,  so  bare  and  cold, 
nor  the  bed  of  straw,  nor  the  darkness  and  loneliness 
of  his  cell.  The  prison  in  which  his  soul  was  shut 
up  was  stronger  and  gloomier  than  they.  But  a few 
days  more  of  sorrow  and  suffering  would  release  it 
from  its  prison. 

' * On  the  day  of  the  1 8th  I am  to  be  hanged  ! Who 
would  have  predicted  such  an  end?”  murmured  Eg- 
bert Chesterfield,  as  he  paced  the  floor  of  his  prison. 
“Yet  I am  innocent,  but  every  evidence  is  against 
me,”  he  continued,  quickening  his  pace,  “ and  I shall 
go  down  to  my  grave  with  the  brand  of  Cain.  When 
I am  in  my  grave  the  marks  of  a murderer  will  be 
upon  my  neck,  but,  thank  God,  my  soul  will  be  free 
from  stain.  If  my  innocence  were  proven  even  after 
I am  gone,  I would  be  more  reconciled  to  death,  but 
it  is  a hard  fate  to  go  to  my  grave  with  a stain  of  the 
deepest  dye  upon  my  name.  Oh,  Rose,  Rose,  if  I 
could  only  see  you  once  more — you  whom  I have 
never  ceased  to  love ! I have  sinned  against  heaven 
and  you ! ” 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


23 


The  thoughts  that  rushed  upon  him  as  he  said  this, 
the  dark  images  that  arose  like  magic  specters  and 
spread  out  their  horrors  to  his  view,  threw  back  the 
life-blood  to  its  covert,  and,  helpless  almost  as  an 
infant,  he  cast  his  trembling  form  upon  the  couch 
that  was  near  at  hand  and  wrung  his  hands  in  agony. 

He  had  fallen  into  the  deep  and  troubled  slumber 
of  exhaustion,  which  is  hardly  to  be  termed  sleep, 
not  possessing  its  refreshing  qualities.  He  lay  there 
in  a kind  of  stupor  or  trance  that  seemed  to  recall  all 
the  events  of  his  past  life  and  go  again  over  their 
troubled  phases.  Presently  he  was  aroused  by  the 
heayy  peals  from  the  bell  of  an  adjoining  steeple, 
tolling  the  hour  of  evening.  He  heard  footsteps  ap- 
proaching, the  key  was  applied  to  the  door  of  his  cell, 
the  heavy  bolt  flew  back  and  the  keeper  entered. 

“A  lady,  sir!”  heralded  the  official. 

The  first  thought  with  Egbert  was  that  the  jailer 
had  thrust  in  another  unfortunate  victim  like  himself 
to  share  his  cell.  The  next  moment  the  lovely  Rose 
was  by  his  side,  and  her  eyes,  beaming  with  love  and 
emotion,  were  fixed  upon  him.  She  had  thrown  off 
the  cloak  and  hood  in  which  she  had  been  disguised, 
and  as  she  stood  gazing  upon  him  she  looked  like  a 
ministering  angel  that  had  dropped  from  the  Throne 
of  Mercy  to  shed  light  and  hope  in  his  dreary  prison. 


124 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


She  wore  the  same  sweet  smile,  had  the  same 
angelic  face,  but  sorrow  had  set  its  seal  upon  that  fair 
brow,  and  sadness  had  robbed  it  of  its  wonted  cheer- 
fulness. Like  the  transparent  cloud,  it  had  shut  out 
the  radiance,  but  the  light  was  still  there. 

It  is  impossible  to  attempt  to  describe  the  feelings 
of  Egbert  Chesterfield  at  this  moment.  At  first  he 
thought  his  eyes  had  deceived  him,  and  the  next 
thought  was  that  his  reason  was  departing.  He  was 
soon  assured,  however,  that  it  was  no  vision,  for  Rose 
drew  near  him  and  said  : 

“ Egbert,  have  you  no  welcome  for  me?”  And 
turning  her  face  toward  the  east  and  pointing  her 
finger  to  heaven,  she  exclaimed  : “The  star  is  shining 
still ! ” 

Egbert  attempted  to  raise  himself  from  his  couch, 
but  fell  back  upon  his  pillow  lifeless.  When  return- 
ing consciousness  aroused  him  he  opened  his  eyes, 
and  they  fell  on  the  lovely  Rose  standing  by  his  couch 
of  straw,  chafing  his  hands  and  forehead.  He  caught 
her  hand  and  pressed  it  tremblingly  to  his  lips,  and 
as  the  tears  fell  thick  and  fast  upon  it,  he  exclaimed : 

“O,  God,  I thank  Thee  for  this  angel  of  mercy, 
who  has  so  mysteriously  appeared  within  these  prison 
walls  ! ” Drawing  her  nearer  to  him,  he  continued  : 
“ My  Rose,  my  noble  Rose,  my  angel,  have  you  come 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


125 


to  forgive  me? — have  you  come  to  bless  my  last  few 
days  on  earth  ? If  you  have,  repeat  these  words  for 
me : * Egbert,  you  are  forgiven  ! ’ ” 

Rose  repeated  the  words  : ‘ ‘ Egbert,  you  are  for- 
given ! ” 

“I  now  die  contented,”  said  he,  “if  it  is  for  an- 
other’s crime!” 

The  jailer  left  them  alone  in  the  cold,  damp,  cheer- 
less prison  cell. 

Egbert  Chesterfield  was  the  only  son  of  a wealthy 
Mississippi  planter.  Mrs.  Chesterfield,  his  mother, 
was  a North  Carolinian,  and,  like  most  natives  of  this 
grand  old  State,  clung  most  fondly,  even  in  absence, 
to  the  memory  of  her  early  home.  It  was  at  her 
request  and  earnest  entreaty  that  Egbert  was  sent  to 

B College,  where  he  had  borne  a most  unsullied 

reputation.  It  was  the  day  after  his  graduation  that 
he  received  a letter  announcing  his  father’s  sudden 
illness.  Egbert  hastened  home  as  quick  as  possible, 
but  the  long  streamers  of  crape  that  floated  from  the 
polished  silver  door-knobs  told  him  that  he  was  too 
late — too  late  for  any  thing,  save  a few  days  watching 
beside  the  couch  of  his  heart-broken  mother,  whom 
even  the  presence  of  Egbert  could  not  recall  from  her 
wandering  toward  the  spirit-land,  whither  she  fol- 
lowed her  husband  in  a few  days. 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


I 26 

Egbert  Chesterfield  now  found  himself  sole  pos 
sessor  of  that  beautiful  Southern  home  which  had 
ever  been  his  special  pride  and  admiration,  but  its 
rich  verdure  and  glad  beauty  only  reminded  him  of 
what  he  had  lost.  So,  after  settling  all  claims  against 
his  father’s  estate,  he  leased  out  the  farm,  intending 
to  leave  for  South  America  immediately,  when  he 
received  an  invitation  from  one  of  his  fellow-students 
in  North  Carolina  to  attend  the  celebration  of  his 
marriage  nuptials,  and  also  to  act  as  groomsman.  He 
accepted  the  honors  conferred  upon  him,  and  it  was 
there  he  met  with  Rose  Sherwood.  Not  many  days 
had  passed  when  Egbert  declared  his  love  for  her, 
vowing  eternal  fidelity,  and  she, ’after  much  hesitation 
and  fear  as  to  his  truth  and  sincerity,  finally  yielded 
to  the  soft  persuasions  of  love  and  gave  into  his  keep- 
ing her  whole  heart.  Soon  the  cold  breath  of  time 
and  absence  would  test  his  affection  ; for  on  the  day 
of  his  separation  from  Rose  he  left  for  his  distant 
home,  having  received  that  morning  from  his  lawyers 
a telegraphic  dispatch  that  a suit  had  been  brought 
against  his  father’s  estate  for  a large  amount  of  money, 
which  demanded  his  immediate  attention.  He  there- 
fore abandoned  the  idea  of  going  to  South  America. 
As  his  business  demanded  his  attention  at  the  old 
homestead,  he  resolved  to  return  at  once.  He  bid 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


12  7 


adieu  to  his  affianced  bride,  promising  to  return  in 
the  course  of  a year  to  claim  her  hand  in  marriage. 

It  had  not  been  Egbert  Chesterfield’s  intention  to 
deceive  Rose,  when  he  declared  his  love  for  her.  He 
was  honest  and  sincere.  He  was  born  with  a sensi- 
tive heart,  a fiery  imagination,  a frank  and  impetuous 
character,  a right  mind,  and  a heart  that  drank  in  all 
the  exalted  passions,  especially  a love  of  glory.  He 
was  brought  up  in  his  father’s  house  with  the  ten- 
derest  care.  When  Egbert  wrote  the  letter  to  Rose 
which  too  plainly  spoke  of  a change  of  his  feelings, 
wrought  by  the  cold  breath  of  absence,  there  was  a 
remaining  sentiment  of  love  and  tenderness  in  his 
heart,  and  he  could  not  cast  her  off  his  mind.  He 
had  withdrawn  himself  from  her  gentle  influence, 
but  an  active  conscience  forbade  his  stifling  altogether 
the  love  to  which  he  had  proved  recreant.  Egbert 
sought  gay  company,  and  resorted  to  places  of  amuse- 
ment calculated  to  win  his  affections  from  Rose. 
Finally,  he  became  weary  of  roving,  and  being  a 
believer  in  the  possibility  of  resurrected  love,  he  re- 
solved to  return  and  find  Rose,  if  possible,  and  throw 
himself  at  her  feet. 

Egbert  was  naturally  very  fond  of  fishing  and  hunt- 
ing, and  occasionally  indulged  in  these  amusements. 
Taking  his  rifle  one  morning,  he  walked  out  upon  the 


128 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


shores  of  Lake  Minnetonka,  which  is  a favorite  resort 
of  nearly  every  species  of  fowl,  while  the  waters  teem 
with  fish  in  great  variety,  giving  to  this  region  the 
reputation  of  a veritable  sportsman’s  paradise.  After 
hunting  for  several  hours,  he  seated  himself  upon  a 
small  terrace  with  the  intention  of  a few  minutes’  rest 
ere  his  return  home,  when  his  attention  was  directed 
to  a large  rock  just  opposite  himself,  when  he  heard 
the  wails  and  groans  of  some  one  who  seemed  to  be 
in  fearful  agony.  Egbert  hastened  to  the  spot,  where 
he  found  the  object  of  his  search.  Lying  upon  the 
ground  before  him  was  a man  weltering  in  blood, 
with  a dagger  piercing  his  heart.  The  perpetrator  of 
the  crime  had  flown,  leaving  the  knife  in  the  breast  of 
his  victim.  Egbert,  without  a second  thought,  stooped 
down  and  drew  out  the  weapon,  which  only  shortened 
the  life  of  the  dying  man,  who  expired  instantly. 
Just  at  this  moment  some  one  passed  and  saw  Egbert 
bending  over  the  dead  body,  saw  the  dagger  in  his 
hand  and  the  crimson  current  dripping  from  the  blade. 
Therefore,  he  was  arrested,  dragged  before  a tribunal 
of  justice,  found  guilty,  and  condemned  to  an  igno- 
minious death  upon  the  scaffold. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


THE  LITTLE  SUPPLICANT  KNEELING  AT  THE  FEET  OF  THE 
GOVERNOR — MARRIAGE  ON  THE  SCAFFOLD. 


Mother  Earth  had  unbound  her  frozen  bosom  to 
the  western  gale ; the  dew-drop  pearled  the  evening’s 
breast ; the  blushing  sun  had  disappeared  in  the  fiery 
portals  of  the  west,  and  the  envious  clouds  were 
bending  low  to  dim  his  radiant  glory,  and  stain  the 
golden  track  of  his  bright  passage  to  the  Occident, 

when  Rose  Sherwood  arrived  in  the  city  of  L , 

and  made  her  appearance  at  the  Governor’s  house. 
She  was  ushered  into  the  presence  of  that  official, 
who  greeted  her  most  warmly.  Beautiful  indeed  she 
was,  her  face  flushed  with  a rosy  tint,  though  an  inde- 
scribable sadness  rested  upon  it,  producing  a spiritual 
look  that  added  another  charm  to  its  beauty.  With 
eager  hands  and  anxious  heart  she  presented  a peti- 
tion for  the  reprieve  of  Egbert  Chesterfield.  The 
Governor  shook  his  head,  mournfully  but  positively. 
9 


i30 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


Her  blood  coursed  wildly  through  her  veins  as  she 
spoke.  She  had  varied  in  color — as  if  her  heart  was 
now  stopping,  now  redoubling  its  beating — and  her 
hands  were  tightly  clenched.  Throwing  herself  upon 
her  knees  at  his  feet  she  implored  the  life  of  her  lover. 
The  expression  of  the  stern  man's  face  was  curiously 
altered,  as  he  gazed  with  surprise  and  admiration 
upon  the  little  supplicant  kneeling  at  his  feet.  The 
palms  of  her  uplifted  hands  were  reverently  pressed 
together,  and  her  imploring  eyes,  fixed  upon-his  own, 
spoke  the  language  of  her  heart.  Counselor  never 
pleaded  more  eloquently  for  a client  than  did  the 
noble  Rose  for  her  dying  lover. 

Now,  we  will  convey  the  reader  to  Shellsburg, 
where  another  and  far  mightier  drama  was  being 
enacted.  Far  as  the  eye  could  reach  was  a compact, 
undulating  mass  of  upturned  faces,  and  doors,  win- 
dows, and  roofs,  contained  human  hives.  There  was 
a subdued  roar,  like  the  beat  of  the  storm-waves  when 
the  wind  blows  eastward.  Rising  in  the  midst  was  a 
black  scaffold,  upon  which,  motionless  as  a statue, 
stood  Egbert  Chesterfield ; and  before  him,  with  hair 
silvered  by  the  frost  of  many  winters,  stood  the  man 
of  God,  hymn-book  in  hand.  A shiver  like  that  of 
the  wind  passing  through  a dense  fog  ran  through  the 


ROSE  SHERWOOD.  131 

vast  throng,  as  he  slowly  and  solemnly  read  the  ap- 
propriate hymn : 

“Show  pity,  Lord,  O Lord  forgive  ! 

Let  the  repenting  rebel  live  ! 

Are  not  thy  mercies  large  and  free  ? 

May  not  a sinner  trust  in  thee?” 

Near  the  spot  of  execution  stood  an  ambulance, 
and  within  it  a handsome  metallic  coffin  with  a star 
engraved  upon  it,  and  a hand  with  a finger  pointing 
to  the  star — which  had  evidently  been  engraved  there 
by  request  of  the  unfortunate  victim  who  within  a few 
hours  was  to  be  confined  beneath  its  lids. 

The  prisoner  turned  to  those  who  had  accompanied 
him,  and  bid  them  a tender  and  final  farewell. 

‘ ‘ I know  my  mortal  days  are  numbered  and  fin- 
ished,” said  he.  “One  struggle,  and  my  soul  will 
be  released  from  the  clay  that  imprisons  it ; but,  thank 
heaven,  I am  not  afraid  to  die,  but  do  as  cheerfully 
pull  off  my  doublet  at  this  time  as  ever  I did  when  I 
laid  myself  upon  my  bed  for  the  repose  of  the  night. 
I pass  from  earth  with  my  heart  set  upon  heaven, 
and  feel  the  attractive  influence  stronger  and  stronger 
as  I approach  nearer  and  nearer  to  that  desirable 
center.” 

Disrobing  himself  of  his  cloak  and  doublet,  he 
prayed  long  and  fervently  for  his  executioners. 

A moment’s  pause — a dead  silence — then  acclama- 


132  ROSE  SHERWOOD. 

tions  rent  the  air.  Another  form  ascended  the  scaf- 
fold. Before  Egbert  Chesterfield,  erect  and  firm, 
stood  Rose  Sherwood,  with  flashing  eyes  that  were 
like  spots  of  fire  in  the  dead  white  of  her  thin  face, 
and  with  firm,  closed  lips.  She  held  in  her  hand  a 
large  envelope  bearing  the  United  States  seal.  Egbert 
rushed  to  her,  and  folded  his  arms  around  her,  and 
clasped  her  to  his  heart,  and  exclaimed : 

“Oh,  Rose,  my  darling,  my  angel,  have  you  come 
to  see  me  die,  that  I might  gaze  upon  you  in  my  last 
moments?  ” 

“No,  no,  dearest  Egbert,”  she  cried  : “I  have  not 
come  to  see  you  die,  but  to  save  you!  Yes,  to  save 
you!  ” she  continued,  holding  up  the  pardon.  “ You 
are  saved — you  are  free — and  the  star  is  shining  still ! ” 

It  is  beyond  the  power  of  the  most  fertile  imagi- 
nation to  form  an  adequate  conception  of  the  scene 
that  followed.  As  it  can  be  better  imagined  than 
described,  we  will  here  leave  it  to  the  reader.  The 
scaffold,  which  but  a few  minutes  before  the  angel  of 
death  had  hovered  around,  was  changed  into  a mar- 
riage altar.  The  marriage  ceremony  was  performed 
by  the  same  minister,  who  had  just  committed  the 
soul  of  Egbert  Chesterfield  to  its  God,  and  thus  he 
and  Rose  Sherwood  were  pronounced  man  and  wife 
upon  the  platform  of  death. 


“No,  no,  dearest  Egbert,  I have  not  come  to  see  you  die,  but 
to  save  you,  and  you  are  saved,  you  are  free,  and  the  star  is 
shining  still.” 


ROSE  SHERWOOD. 


133 


While  these  events  were  transpiring,  another  scene 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  audience.  Leaning 
upon  a staff,  with  pale  and  haggard  countenance, 
and  assisted  by  two  other  persons,  came  the  real 
murderer,  who,  without  hesitation,  confessed  his  crime, 
saying  his  time  on  earth  was  short,  and,  were  he  to 
be  hanged,  he  would  not  be  robbed  of  many  days. 

The  crowd  broke  up,  and  bands  of  men  rushed 
about  shouting  paeans  through  the  air.  Congratu- 
lations fell  from  every  lip.  And  now  we  will  return 
with  this  romantic  and  happy  couple  to  their  beautiful 
Southern  home  in  the  valley  of  the  Mississippi,  where 
the  angel  of  terrestrial  light  will  dip  its  wing  in  the 
shining  waters  of  bliss,  and  baptize  them  with  the 
fluttering  of  its  golden  pinions. 


THE  END. 


IN  PRESS 


AND  SOON  TO  BE  PUBLISHED, 

“ BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A NAME.” 

By  MISS  BELLE  PETERSON, 

Author  of  “ Rose  Sherwood,  or  the  Star  is  Shining  Still;” 
“ One  Word  and  a Tear,  or  the  Wounded  Dove;” 

“ The  Story  of  Leonoria  Parolee,” 
and  Poetical  Works. 


1 1-  i 


